


Unveiled

by circadian_rythm, Feynite, LycheePit, scurvaliciousbay, SeleneLavellan



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Multi, Romance, meet cutes, strip club au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-09-12 11:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16872186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circadian_rythm/pseuds/circadian_rythm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LycheePit/pseuds/LycheePit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scurvaliciousbay/pseuds/scurvaliciousbay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: Found Family, Elves on the run, and a Strip Club full of mystery.





	1. Chapter 1

“Ana, it’s literally freezing out.” Selene grumbles.

“Bubble. Tea.” the shorter woman insists.

 

With an overly put upon sigh, Selene tosses aside the afghan she had been wrapped in. “Alright, fine. Just let me get dressed.”

Ana unceremoniously tosses Selene the sweater that had been draped over one of the kitchen chairs. It’s large, and soft, and Selene’s favorite. She puts it on without anymore complaining, then laces up her boots before following the red head in her blue knit cap down the stairs of their apartment building and out into the snow covered city.

 

The shop is surprisingly crowded given the weather, Selene thinks when they arrive. She wonders if perhaps some of these people were just trying to get out of the cold as shoulders bump shoulders and people nervously hover over those lucky enough to snag chairs.

The two women place their order, moving to wait near the pick up counter. Making idle conversation about work and the club and Selene teases Ana about getting a Banana Bubble Tea for Vena sometime and Ana pretends not to know what Selene could possibly be referring to.

 

She is  _so_  preoccupied with teasing Ana, in fact, that she doesn’t notice the elvhen man standing up from one of the tables. Her elbow knocks his, and suddenly what turns out to be a frozen coffee slush has slipped from the mans grip and landed all over Selene’s favorite sweater.

It is  _very_  cold.

 

“I am-I am very sorry, please forgive me,” The man stammers, while Ana rushes off to grab a stack of napkins.

“No, no. It was my fault, I should have been watching where I was going,” Selene frowns, pulling the sweater away from her body and shaking it in hopes of-well, she’s not really sure. Drying it, maybe?

“I can pay to have that cleaned,” the man offers, hand twitching at his side.

“That’s very sweet, but you don’t have to,” Selene assures him, taking a handful of napkins from Ana and scooping the ice shards into it. She dumps the soggy pile of tissue into the trash and begins to blot at the stain. But coffee doesn’t come out of white very easily. Perhaps she  _should_  get it cleaned if there’s to be any hope of salvaging it, she thinks.

 

Selene turns to find Ana, who is now holding both of their drinks in her hands and chatting with the man whose drink Selene accidentally destroyed.

Selene grins at the pair sheepishly “I…may need to get this professionally cleaned after all.”

The man merely nods “I know of a reliable place nearby,” and heads out the door. Selene blinks and follows he and Ana out into the cold.

 

Which is  **much**  colder, for the record, when the item supposed to keep you warm is soaking wet.

 

But the place is pleasantly close, and they follow the man inside, Ana sipping happily away at her beverage. He gestures to Selene when she enters and she quickly yanks the sweater over her head, leaving her in a too-thin transparent top. She’d probably be more embarrassed about it if she didn’t take her clothes off for a living anyways (plus her bra is cute today), but the way the man turns red is endearing.

 

The dwarf behind the counter hands the man an already finished coat and takes Selene’s still-wet sweater while the elvhen man instructs them to ‘put it on his account’. The dwarf just waves in a dismissive motion and then disappears into the back.

 

Selene shuffles awkwardly.

“Thank you,” she finally manages. “I could have paid for that.”

“It is no trouble,” The man says, looking as awkward as she feels while Ana lounges in one of the lobby chairs, happily chewing on a piece of boba. After a moment, he holds his arm out stiffly, the still wrapped in plastic coat hanging off of it “Please. I would feel very guilty if you fell ill due to my negligence.”

 

Selene hesitates, but takes the coat more for his sake than her own. He’s going to get a crick in his neck if he keeps staring at the ceiling like that just to avoid seeing her bra. As she slips it over her shoulders, she has to admit it is very warm. And cozy. And it has a very comforting weight to it.

He probably looks very nice in it, too. With his square jaw and dark hair and bright eyes…

“Thank you,” she manages, again.

The man just nods, and glances at his watch before frowning.

 

“Who still wears a watch?” Selene teases, pulling the coat a bit tighter around her.

“I do,” The man informs her “I find it useful in situations where I am unable to answer my phone.”

Selene smirks “Oh, sure. Sometimes that pocket is just too far away, right?”

“Normally it is more likely I am in a meeting where a cell phone would be considered impolite.”

“Oh,” Selene swallows. “So you’re a business man then?”

“Something like that, yes. And you?”

Selene pauses.

She’s not sure why she pauses, it’s not as though she’s actually ashamed of her job or anything. The people are nice, and it pays well for her schooling.

“Customer Service,” is what she twists it into though, and she can see Ana almost choke on one of her bobas when she hears the not-technically-a-lie-depending-on-your-perspective.

 

The man nods, before checking his watch again. “Regrettably, I need to go back to the office or I will be late from my lunch period. Please let me know if you have any further issues.”

 

Selene nods, and moves to take off his coat, but he just shakes his head “You may hold on to it for now. It…suits you.”

“Thank you,” Selene says, beginning to feel a bit like a broken record.

 

And she feels like an idiot as she plops down in the empty chair beside Ana, once he’s left.

 

“ 'Customer Service’?” she teases.

“I panicked,” Selene sighs. She rubs tenderly on the edges of the just-slightly-too-long-for-her sleeves, before realizing she never even got the mans name. She lets out a groan as she shares her fallacy with her roommate and slumps further into the chair, before Ana flicks out a small piece of paper and wiggles it in front of Selenes face.

 

“Good thing I got his business card while you were feeling yourself up in the restaurant then,” Ana grins.

 

Selene blinks and takes the card from Ana “You’re the best friend a girl could ask for.”

“I know,” Ana hums, before returning to her drink.

 

Selene turns the card over a few times, fingers drifting over the raised texture of the ink.

 _DIRTHAMEN EVANURIS_ is the name listed, along with a phone and fax number, and an address.

 

She’ll have to give him his coat back somehow, after all. And perhaps even a new coffee, while she’s at it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana's job

Ana likes her job.

It pays well, and Nanae Melarue owns the joint. She sees it as a way of earning her place. Her idiot teenage self didn’t fully recognize or appreciate the things they did for her, and the least she can do is try and pay them back by helping out at their business.

She moved out and everything, and is paying for school with the money she earns from bartending.

Selene is a good roommate, and they both work together which is convenient for travel, they like the same kinds of things, and Selene is tall enough to get the stuff off the high shelves.

They’ve been friends for a long time, and things are good.

Ana bartends most nights with Cherry as she mixes drinks and Cherry will occasionally fill a tray and take it over to patrons at tables.

The music booms as Ana watches Vena perform from her perch at the bar. Perhaps it’s unwise to crush on a fellow employee, but…

Well.

There’s nothing she can do about that. She’ll just have to be content on watching him as his clothes come off piece by piece, and he twirls on his pole, and patrons throw money at him for his performances.

In her defense, they’re good performances.

“Hey,” someone calls, and Ana focuses on the patron who has made his way over to her side of the bar. She smiles, as is customary for her to.

“What can I get you?” she asks.

“That dancer, the man with the black hair, whats his name?” the man asks. Ana’s lips pull into a thin line, it’s against protocol for her to reveal any personal information about their dancers.

“No can do, sir. Our establishment has a strict rule about the privacy of our dancers,” she tells him. The man sighs, dejected. She makes a mental note to make sure Vena isn’t followed home tonight.

“Ah, of course,” the man says, too easily Ana thinks. “Can I at least buy him a drink? Which one is his favourite?” he asks. There are no protocols against that.

“Mango Banana Corkscrew,” she tells him, and the man pays for it as Ana whips it up. She uses the little pager strapped to the collar of her uniform to inform Aelynthi that Vena will have to come accept a drink from a patron.

She tosses everything into a shaker and makes idle conversation with the patron. Learning that he works as a photographer, is 46 years old, and divorced. He tries again to pry information about Vena from her, but she diverts the conversation.

Ana decides she needs to keep an eye on this one. She finishes the drink and tops it off with a paper umbrella.

Vena loves the little umbrellas.

“There you have it, sir,” she says.

“Ah, good,” the man sighs, and Ana watches closely, making more idle conversation with the patron.

“Ana!” Cherry calls, “pass me the schnapps.”

Ana turns her head to pick up the bottle near her to pass it to her coworker, and sees the man slip something into the drink out of the corner of her eye.

White powder dissolves into the bright liquid just as Aelynthi makes his way over to the bar, Vena in tow. The patron talks to him, complimenting him on his performance, as Ana narrows her eye at the drink.

Swiftly she knocks it over into the nearby sink, the delicate glass shattering as Ana pulls the patron down by the tie and holds the concealed knife she keeps on her at all times to the patron’s throat. The man shrieks, and she watches as the color drains from his face. The other patrons stopping to watch.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing?!” he stammers.

“I think I should be asking  _you_  that,” Ana says. “Slipping date rape drugs into drinks, sir, you are in  _no_  position to make demands.”

He stammers pathetically again, trying to free himself from her hold until she presses the knife more firmly to his throat, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Now,” she says, “try anything with my dancers, and perhaps I’ll mount  _you_  on my wall.”

The man’s throat bobs as he swallows, and once Victory makes his way over she frees him, and lets Victory take him away.

Ana signs, and throws a lock of her hair over her shoulder as everyone goes back to their usual activities. She smiles at Vena before he goes backstage once more.

Ana is more than just a bartender, she’s meant to be a safeguard to protect her friends who put themselves on display. She would likely kill to keep them safe.

Who’s to say that she hasn’t?


	3. Selenes Backstory (part one)

Selene is 3 when her Papae dies. Her Mamae cries, and they bury them, and then they move.

“Too many memories,” her Mamae explains through red rimmed eyes as she takes Selene into the city and away from the clan.

 

The smells are the most difficult thing for her to adjust to. It’s piss and garbage and too long between baths. It’s crowded, and the other children are loud while they dance around the Vhenadahl and interrupt her mothers prayers. She cries more when they do that.

Selene is 4 when she has enough. One of the other children is swinging from a branch, when it snaps off and they trample right through her Mamae’s plot and shrine trying to escape from getting in trouble. Her vision goes white, as she picks up the other branch and chases them down with it.

She doesn’t hit them, not really, but she is quick and the threat scares them enough.

Selene asks her Mamae to smooth it down, and then plants the branch firmly in the top corner of her Mamaes plot.

A warning.

They do not trample her Mamaes space again. But she still cries, sometimes.

Selene is not sure what else she can do.

 

Selene is 8 when her Mamae gets too sick to work anymore. She doesn’t mind taking it over, not really. She tends to the plants and does her homework and cleans the house and cooks the stews while her mother rests and tells her stories. She learns to barter with the neighbors, that watching the babies while the mother does the laundry will earn her a coin, and that taking care of a few other plots will earn her more coins, and some of the older kids will give her snacks and clothes and books for helping with their homework. Sometimes Selene runs out of time, and can’t earn all of her coins and has to sell things instead so that Mamae can keep her roof and her bed. She just takes small things, though. Decorative pieces or old books that Mamae won’t notice the absence of from beneath her blankets.

 

Selene is 9, when her Mamae stops waking up.

 

She cries, and strangers come to take her away. She doesn’t want to go, she has worked hard, she has fought and bled and learned and earned this place and she doesn’t want to lose her home.

And then suddenly everything gets very warm.

Everything is bright, and vibrant, and there are voices and they are promising her things, promising her Mamae back, that she can keep her home that she can keep her family, that she does not have to lose  _anything_  if she would just accept their help-

And then all she knows is darkness.

–

When Selene wakes up, she is in a very dark, damp, cold room. There is a window, but it is very high off the ground, and there are bars blocking the sunlight. There is a dark stain on the back wall, and a rope hanging from the ceiling.

Selene does not think she wants to be here anymore.

 

She calls out, cries for someone, anyone. She’s sorry. She does not understand what she did, but she is  _sorry_ and she will never do it again.

A woman in long white robes opens the door to her cell, and asks her if she means it.

“Yes,” Selene pleads “Yes, I am sorry.”

The woman seems satisfied with Selenes sincerity, and escorts her out of the room and down the hall. She gives Selene a piece of bread, which she devours too quickly but she is very hungry. She’s not sure how long she was in that cell, but her stomach is still growling after she has finished.

She wishes she had gotten to take some of her saved up snacks with her, but doesn’t voice the thought aloud.

 

The woman gives Selene a test, makes sure she can read and write and asks about her school. Selene answers them all as honestly as she can, and ends up with a new pair of clothes and shoes for her trouble. She changes into them, a drab tan shirt and some black shorts, and follows the woman as she leads her further down the hall.

Anything will be better than that cell, Selene thinks.

 

There are more tests, and questions, and some men in armor poke and prod at her with magic and swords before they let her into the final room.

It is filled with more children.

Some are elvhen, some human, and there are even a few people with horns, she notes.

Selene shuffles awkwardly with only the vague instructions of “Go play. We will tell you where to go when the sun goes down.”

 

Selene swallows, and hopes it isn’t back into the cell.

 

Mostly, Selene sticks to the walls. Unsure of herself, or the other children. She finds some paper, and starts writing out her multiplication tables. The numbers are nice, and familiar, and she likes the way they look on the paper.

 

“Whatcha doin’?” A voice asks, as Selenes view is obscured by orange.

A lot of orange.

 

She blinks, and realizes that the orange is actually hair, and it’s attached to a small freckled elvhen girl.

 

“Oh. I’m just….” Selene looks down at the paper and then back at the girl “I don’t know what else to do.”

 

The other girl just nods as though this makes perfect sense “You’re new here, huh?”

 

Selene nods back.

 

“I’m Elanna,” the girl grins, a smile eating up most of her face.

Selene starts to cry.

She doesn’t know  _why_ , although it’s probably because it’s the first smile she’s seen directed at her in weeks. It’s embarrassing, really, people don’t like when you cry, and you’re not supposed to cry at nothing and what if they send her back to the cell because she messed up already and now the sobbing is just getting louder and she can’t stop and Elanna is panicking too.

Selene takes deep breaths to try to calm herself down.

She ends up with the hiccups, mostly.

“I'm” ***hic** * “sorry.” * **hiccup** * “I didn't” * **hiccup***  “mean to cry.” * **hic***

Elanna pats her shoulder consolingly “It’s ok. Sometimes we just cry because we have to. I used to cry a lot too.”

 

Selene sniffles and nods again. “Thank” * **hic***  “you.”

 

Elanna waits patiently for Selenes sobs to dissipate, and then holds out her hand and shows her around. Apparently they’re in an orphanage, and sometimes people stay for a long time and sometimes they disappear really quickly. Selene asks about the cell and Elanna just looks at her funny “I dunno,” she answers honestly “I didn’t have anything like that.”

Selene swallows and hopes that isn’t a bad sign.

 

She ends up spending the rest of the day trailing around Elanna, and discovers she used to live with a clan too, when she was little.

It’s a nice connection, even if neither of them remember it very well. Selene thinks this is what having a friend is supposed to be like. When she asks Elanna, she just gets a very enthusiastic “Yep!” in return.

That’s probably a good sign.

 

Selene only separates from Elanna in fact, when the sun goes down and Selene is taken to a separate sort of room. It’s got funny signs and symbols all over it, and the other kids fidget a lot and some of them seem to actually be taking turns sleeping, which Selene thinks is silly. They’re all  _supposed_ to be asleep, after all.

One of the older kids, around 13 and apparently soon to be transferred somewhere else because they’re ‘getting too old for a kids way of sleeping’, whatever that means, looks at Selene funny.

“You hear the voices too?” they ask.

Selene blinks, and remembers when they had come to take her away from her Mamaes corpse. Promises…

Selene nods.

“Those’re  _demons,_ ”the human tells her “They’ll lie to you and tell you all sort of things but they just want to kill you, and all the rest of us. You’ll learn soon. The Chant’ll teach you.”

 

Selene just nods slowly, and thinks perhaps it’s a good thing that the other child will be leaving soon.

But sleep is difficult.

There are many voices, many more than she’s ever heard before. Colors and images and illusions and a warm purple light with a soothing tone that she just feels like melting into.

But she’s awoken abruptly by very cold water splashing onto her face. Selene sputters, sitting up, and panicking before recalling the events of the day before.

The sun is barely breaking over the town, but all of the other children are dressed.

There is a pair of robes at the foot of her bed, identical to the others.

“What are these for?” she asks.

“Training.” One of the other kids mutters.

 

Selene swallows, and feels an overwhelming sense of dread as she changes into her new outfit.

At least, she might get to see Elanna again.

That would be nice.


	4. Selenes backstory (part two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for Assault, Fire, Food, Abuse, Child Labor, Thoughts of Suicide, and Attempted Rape (followed by the immediate immolation of the person making the attempt)

The orphanage is terrible.

It’s gruel and punishment and being told her existence is a sin but don’t slip up or it’ll get even  _worse_  and watching the breakdowns around her like some kind of horrific conga line waiting and wondering when her moment in the spotlight will be.

And then there’s Ana. Sweet little Ana, Selenes ball of light and life and sarcasm who deserves better, who should get the hell out, who should have a family, dammit, someone realize how great she is and _give her a fucking family._

But Selene is selfish, too.

Selene wants a family, too, and if Ana leaves there’ll be nothing left, nothing but the chant and the practice and the work.

It’s Selene who ends up leaving.

 

Not by choice, though. When she is 13 she’s tossed in with a group of other mages in her age group. They’re told it’s ‘overcrowded’ at the Orphanage. Not enough food or beds or work to go around and aren’t they  _lucky_  because a Magister on the other side of the sea has graciously volunteered to take them under his wing.

Selene doesn’t feel lucky, as the boat rocks against the waves and she contemplates diving overboard and seeing how far she can make it.

She misses Elanna, already.

 

The mansion is huge, at least. There’s space for everyone, and everyone gets their own rooms and the food is good, so long as you do what they ask. Just helping with spells, usually, or chores around the house. Selene doesn’t mind the cleaning so much as the whispers, or the looks as she gets older and taller and her body begins to fit into itself. Her legs get longer and her hair grows out and she contemplates cutting it when it reaches her knees but the Magister insists that long hair is very  _'in’_ , whatever that means, and since he is the one keeping her fed and off the streets, she leaves it alone.

 

Her studies get extended, and she ends up with special tutoring when they discover her gift with numbers. She gets to balance the books for the estate when she turns 16, and learns how to hide and distribute money where the others need it. When one of the younger boys outgrows his shoes, she makes sure there’s an extra pair in the next shipment. When one of the girls disobeys an order and has her food rations cut, Selene makes sure her roommate gets an extra set of dried goods.

 

When the Magister finds out, he stops being kind.

 

Selene is beaten and whipped and degraded within an inch of her life, and left alone in a cell for 3 days.

She discovers that she still hates cells. But at night, when the sun goes down and the cold seeps in, she finds she is also very, very good with fire. It saves her life, as she learns how to keep herself warm. The spirits, demons, she’s not sure nor does she care at this point, whisper to her. Tell her how to control it, how to ration her mana to stay warm throughout the night with no clothes and no blankets.

 

The Magister seems perplexed to discover her still alive when he opens the door, but has the decency not to mention it to her directly, at least.

He tosses her her clothes, still bloody and dirty and stained from days before and instructs her to return to her duties as though nothing had happened.

But Selene does not forget.

 

Her magical training takes off, after that. They teach her how to control it, and cast rituals and spells and do blood magic. The Magister takes her to parties, and fills her hair with flowers and jewels and braids and puts her in dresses that are too fine while her friends shiver in rags behind closed doors.

She feels sick the first time, like a prized animal on display. 'The little elvhen orphan from across the sea’. Some sort of marvel for the other celebrities and politicians to gawk at and pity and tell the Magister what a 'kind’ sort he must be to permit such a thing into his home.

But Selene is clever.

By the third party, she has fallen into step. She has memorized the patterns of every dance, picked up colloquialisms of several languages and learned how to distract with her body while she slips food and gold into her purse or between the billowing folds of her dress.

The Magister is  _thrilled._ Invitations pour in from every family and event for he and his 'exotic paramour’ to attend.

Selene does not care about the events, so much as for what she can take from them.

 

The others are getting older, and a few have already been sent away and never heard from again, and that worries her. So she takes scraps and baubles and gifts and gives them to the others, who sneak off into the night one by one with at least enough money in their pockets for a boat ticket and a few weeks worth of food.

She is 20, when the Magister notices his free labor has all but vanished.

He screams and yells and curses and throws a general fit and Selene waits. She doesn’t care anymore, if he throws her in the cell to die. She has given the others a chance and played his game within his rules and  _beaten_  him at it. It is far more than she ever thought she would manage.

He does not take her to the cell. 

She is still wearing the finery of the evening, diamonds around her neck and over her breasts. Dark green silk and a gilded corset emphasizing her curves as he drags her to his bedchambers and tosses her atop his bed. She sits up, summons her fire before it is taken from her, the darkness behind her eyes taking over. A feeling of nausea, like when she had been taken from her home before.

No.

No, no, no.

She will not allow this,  **no**. He has taken everything from her, her identity, her friends, her adolescence, and now her magic and she will not permit him her body too,  ** _no_**.

 

A voice whispers to her, offers her the opportunity to take it all back. To make him pay for what he has done, to keep her safe and alive and ensure he will never hurt another person the way he is trying to hurt her.

Selene accepts without hesitation.

 

Her skin burns and crawls and her magic returns as she blasts it at him, searing off one side of his face as he slams into the opposite wall. She rises, purple flames erupting from every pore of her body and she listens to the wood of the bed frame creak as it burns around her. Watches as the furniture and the rugs catch and the flames spread and she strangles the life out of the Magister with smoky tendrils.

The voice is louder now, clear, and male and calls himself Desire, or Des for short.

He watches with her as the mansion burns to the ground. She counts those fleeing the flames from the safety of a brush of forest on the hilltop, ensuring none of the hired help would lose their lives due to the Magisters greed.

It takes 3 days for all of the fires to stop burning.

Selene finds it fitting.

Des asks what she plans to do next.

 

“I’m going back home,” she tells him plainly.

–

 

Selene is 22 with hair just past her shoulders when she sees Elanna again. There is an older person with her, tall and thin with cheekbones sharp enough to gouge someones eye out with. And some sort of astral snake, coiling about them.

_Oh_ , Selene realizes.  _They’re like me._

She feels strangely protective of her friend from the orphanage, given that it has been nearly 8 years since they last had contact. But still, Selene waves and calls for her and Anas face lights up with a grin just like it did so long ago as they rush towards her.

The snake person eyes Selene skeptically before calmly following behind Ana.

 

“Ana!” Selene greets “I feel like it’s been a lifetime since I saw you last. How have you been? Who’s your…friend?”

 

“I’ve been…well I wasn’t great for a while to be honest, but this is my Nanae, Melarue. Melarue, this is Selene. We met in the orphanage.”

 

“Charmed,” Melarue nods.

 

Selene is skeptical of the truth behind that, but Des appreciates the double meaning.

 

“So what’re you doing back here?” Ana asks excitedly.

 

“Oh. I’m uh…” Selene hesitates. She doesn’t want to lie to Ana, but saying 'the diamonds and things I stole from the Magister I was sold to are drying up and I need another way to make money that won’t do a background check on me and find out I killed him and burned down his mansion’ seems a bit on the nose. “I’m job hunting,” she evades instead.

 

“I own a place,” Melarue offers.

 

Selene raises an eyebrow, waiting for the catch.

 

“It’s a strip club, named Unveiled. We have an opening for a dancer, and strict rules. No touching, no sex, and the dancers are always allowed to say no to the customer.”

 

“Well that sounds…”

 

“And our security is first rate.” Melarue smiles.

 

Selene hesitates still. She  _does_  need to come up with money quickly, to stay in school after all, and it’s unlikely another opportunity like this will present itself.

 

“I work there, too! And my brother. I have a brother now.” Ana grins. “I bartend. And I do security, sometimes. I’ll make sure no sleazeballs try anything funny on you.”

 

Selene swallows as her mouth goes dry and her tongue gets heavy and she remembers diamonds and silk and flames and- “Do I get to pick my own outfits?” she manages, with a glance to Melarue.

 

“Of course,” they nod.

 

Selene pauses for only a moment more before she extends her hand to them in acceptance, and watches as they take it. The snake crawls over and between them and Des rises to greet it.

They…will certainly need to have a conversation, she supposes.

But a job’s a job.


	5. Victory's Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some Strip Club AU Victory backstory! This is pretty much the basics of Victory’s backstory in all modern AUs. Warnings for violence and mentions of child abuse and murder.

Victory’s first memory of his mother is bright white teeth and a soft voice humming a lullaby he doesn’t remember the words to, in a language he doesn’t understand; pale blue lines running across her face like streams running across sand dunes.

His first memory of his father is a large, hulking shadow; a booming laugh and bright green eyes and the smell of grease and motor oil. There are no painted lines on his father’s face, just creases in skin like old leather.

When Victory is six, his mother and father have a fight.

It’s a big fight, and there’s lots of yelling, and when his mother comes in to read him a bedtime story, he can tell that she’s been crying. She sings to him, and promises that she’ll teach him the words someday, and kisses him on the forehead.

The police come to his school during recess the next day.

They take him to their station and ask him lots of questions, like if his father ever hit him or his mother, and if something had happened at home. Victory tells the officer about the fight, and then asks the nice lady that gave him a cookie if he can see his mom.

The nice lady tells him that he can’t, because his mother is gone, and she won’t ever be coming back. She’s going to be with the Maker, the nice lady explains. Victory doesn’t know who the Maker is, and he doesn’t know why his mother went with him.

When Victory is eight, he overhears his foster parents talking.

_“Such a tragedy. But what could she do? He was so big, there was no way she could have fought him off. A shame. Such a shame.”_

_“He’s locked away for good now. No need to worry about that anymore, dear.”_

When Victory is nine, one of the older boys shows him a newspaper with his father on the front page and the word  **MURDERER**  written across the top in big, bold letters.

When Victory is twelve, he starts growing and he doesn’t stop. He shoots up like a weed, and his foster parents start to get nervous.

When he’s thirteen, his foster father tries to crawl into one of the girls’ beds, and Victory drags him out onto the front porch and breaks his jaw. He’s labeled a troubled child by the Chantry-run house and they kick him out onto the streets.

It takes two weeks before he’s picked up by a local gang and sent to the fighting pits.

When he’s fifteen, he’s the best fighter they have. He’s big, and he’s fast for his size, and when he hits someone they stay down. Sometimes they don’t get back up again, if the boss tells him to make sure they can’t.

When he’s seventeen, Melarue visits the pits. They’re there for some kind of ‘business’ with the Cadash family, who are the ones that his boss’ gang work for. They are the tallest elf Victory’s ever seen, aside from himself. 

They look at him, and they aren’t scared. It’s the first time he’s ever seen an elf that wasn’t afraid of him.

The boss brings him in to meetings a lot, to intimidate people, or to beat them until they do what the boss wants. Victory looks at Melarue and he knows that if he were asked to beat them, they’d be able to kill him before he got two steps. Some animal instinct kicks in, clicks into place, and he knows that if this ends badly, he won’t be the one walking out of the room.

But the boss invites them to watch the fights, and sends Victory down to the pit to give them some entertainment.

By the time the night is over, he somehow finds himself sitting on a couch in an empty strip club and Melarue is wiping the blood off his knuckles. He doesn’t remember what happened, only that he’s there now, and Melarue is asking if he’s hungry.

“I…” Victory nods. “A little.”

Melarue nods. “I’ll make something for you then, and we can talk after you’ve eaten.” They stand, and his gaze follows them as they head toward the back, behind the bar. “This was a restaurant once. I kept the kitchen, when I used to live above the place.” They point upwards, at the second floor, before they head into the back and leave Victory to himself.

He wakes up the next morning curled up in Melarue’s office, covered in a blanket he doesn’t remember from the night before, and a cat purring near his ear.

Victory meets Aelynthi three days after he moves into the small apartment across the street from the strip club. He’s wiping down tables when Aelynthi walks inside with his nanae, talking about some kind of art show in town.

He takes one look at Victory and lets out a long, low whistle. “You are  _gigantic_.” But there isn’t any fear in his voice, just surprise and a hint of admiration, before he hops up onto the bar and pulls out a sketchpad. “Can I sketch you?”

Aelynthi is the most beautiful person Victory’s ever seen.

It’s the first thought he has, and the first thing he says to him. “You’re beautiful,” he blurts out, still holding a dirty rag in one hand, wearing an apron that’s too small, and a borrowed t-shirt with the name of a band he’s never heard before.

“Idiot,” Aelynthi laughs.

“You’re beautiful,” Victory tells him again, years later, lips skimming Aelynthi’s throat, as he arches beneath him and his fingernails dig into Victory’s back.

Aelynthi captures his lips in his own, and lifts his hips, and laughs breathlessly at him between kisses.

“Idiot.”


	6. Imesaar-bas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning for Child abuse, domestic abuse, child endangerment, blood, fire, EVIL parent

Mama opens the shop up when Ashokara’s four. She likes the shop, it’s full of books and always smells nice. Mama likes to keep flowers around and while she tells Ashokara that she can’t read  _these_  books, she still likes to sit and play with her dolls.

People talk about weird stuff in the shop, but she ignores it like Mama tells her to. Papa  _hates_  the store. But he also needs it because his work got him fired. Wait no, he got fired from work! That’s it!

Mama said that opening the store was the best option, and then she did, and now they live in the apartment above it and it’s nice. Ashokara has her own little room with her daybed and dolls while Mama and Papa have their own room. There’s even a living room and a bathroom and a kitchen! Ash is apparently technically living in the dining room, but they put up some curtains and it’s very nice. It feels very fancy with the chandelier, even if it is old and sorta weird looking. There are candles in the chandelier and Mama has to reach up on her tiptoes to light them with a match.

The chandelier fills the room in pretty light and Ash likes the fire, sometimes it flickers and it’s very pretty to watch as the shadows dance along the wall-paper.

When she’s five, Papa has a job again and starts making money. But it’s still not as much as Mama makes. The shop is doing so good! Mama goes to a monthly business meeting with the other locally owned stores and sometimes Ash goes with her. She mostly just sits on the floor and colors and tries to ignore Billy. Billy Bramble is gross and smells weird. And the nice person with glasses and earrings told her it’s best if she were to steer clear of him.

They smiled and she smiled back because they seemed very nice. After the meeting, they ask Mama if she wants to get drinks.

“Oh, I- that is very flattering but I’m married,” she says and Ash huffs. Papa is so silly, he never got Mama a  _ring_  so no one knows that Mama’s married and she has to tell everyone! The very beautiful person smiles and say that he must be a very lucky man.

Mama  _blushes_.

“Papa thinks Mama’s store is bad,” Ash says and Mama says Ash’s name in  _that_  tone, so Ash apologizes.

“Not everyone understands our businesses,” they say and Ash looks up at Mama. She’s smiling and looks very pretty too and Ash wonders if Mama should go out to drinks with the pretty person if it makes her this happy.

But they all part ways and Mama takes her home, feeding her spaghettios before tucking her into bed in the dining room. Mama blows the candles out and leaves the room. Her nightlight glows softly across the room and she watches it until her eyes droop.

The next day, Papa gets angry.

The pretty person comes to the store and smiles at Mama and she smiles back and later she tells Papa that it was an accident. A reflex.

When he hits her, Mama’s head turns and Ash steps forward.

“Go to bed, Ash,” Mama says quickly, her lip bleeding.

“But –

“Imekari! Go to bed!” Papa shouts and Ash squeaks before running into her small dining room and hiding under the covers.

“ _Qal, it meant nothing_.”

_“Don’t you love me? I gave you our daughter. I gave you the store. This apartment.”_

_“You know that is not what –_ “

Ash flinches as she hears the ugly sounds and she squinches her eyes shut, trying to wish it away. The candles flickers above her and she cries as quietly as possible.

_Please don’t let him hear me. Please stop hurting Mama._

Morning comes and Mama looks different. She’s wearing long-sleeves and a scarf and a lot of makeup, Ash can tell because Mama  _never_  wears makeup.

“It’s time for school, Ashokara,” she says and Ash gets up and gets dressed like Mama wants her to. When she tries to hug Mama goodbye at school, Mama backs away and looks like she’s about to cry. Does she still hurt? Her lip’s still a little swollen and she tells Ms. Stein that she bit her lip but that’s a lie. Mama says it’s bad to lie, but she also said to not to talk about Papa. So Ash stays quiet.

Mama picks her up later and she hangs out in the store, coloring in her books. She pulls out a new sheet and draws the really pretty person that made Mama smile. She draws them with a really big smile, and maybe it’ll help. Make Mama smile and not hurt so bad.

“Mama! I drew’d you a picture!” She holds up her masterpiece and Mama’s face falls. She doesn’t smile, but she does take the drawing and quickly stashes it away.

“Never draw them again, Ashokara, you hear me?” She says and Ash nods, even though she doesn’t really understand.

When Papa comes home, he asks why dinner isn’t ready yet. Mama tells him that she thought they could order in since she doesn’t feel like cooking. He tells her that he isn’t in the mood for human crap and slaps her.

Mama makes a traditional Qunari dish that Ash hates. It takes like dirt.

“Don’t disrespect your mother like that,” Papa tells her.

“Why couldn’t we order in? I like that better,” she whines. She’s hungry and doesn’t like the food and it tastes  _so gross_.

“I’ll make you something after I eat, alright, Ash?” Mama says and she’s about to say okay to that because that sounds good but Papa stands up and motions for Ash to follow him.

“Papa?”

“Come here, Ashokara.”

“Qal, it’s alright, she’s young and it’s been a long day.”

“She has disrespected you and us, Kassaran, she is old enough to understand she can’t do that.”

Ash doesn’t really understand what they’re talking about. Do they want her to eat the mush? It doesn’t taste good! And she just doesn’t want to eat it, it’s not that bad is it?

Papa tells her to take her pants off and Mama tells Qal that if he does this she’ll leave him.

“You will do no such thing,” he says and something clinks as she shimmies out of her leggings. The air is cold and she feels very scared right then. Her body shakes and suddenly Papa is crouching in front of her.

“Do you know what this is, Imekari?”

That’s a Qunlat word that Papa likes to call her when she’s in trouble and she tries not to cry because he really doesn’t like it when she cries.

“A-a belt?”

“We call it a Nehrappan. Can you say that? Nehrappan.”

She can, she knows Qunlat because Mama and Papa talk it a lot and she knows it too, but Papa never seems to believe her.

“Nehrappan.”

“That’s right! And when you are Imekari-bas we use the Nehrappan to teach you not to be anymore.”

“Mama says I should use my words when I’m upset,” she whispers and Papa sighs as he stand back up with the Nehrappan and steps behind her.

“ _Qal! Stop this! Don’t you dare –_

Ash cries at the first hit. It hurts!

“PAPA! NO!” She screeches and he lets the Nehrappan hit her again. She runs, she doesn’t want to hurt! Mama said to use her words and she did! She used her words! She didn’t want to eat the mush!

She runs to her room and she hears Mama stand and run and then she hears the noises from last night. The chandelier goes out and she hides in the blankets again, sobbing as quietly as she can. Her tummy rumbles and she wants to run out and help Mama, but she’s scared. Scared of Papa and Nehrappan.

An hour passes.

No one comes to tuck her in.

Another hour passes.

She shifts around uncomfortably, needing to use the potty but what if Papa is out there? With Nehrappan?

Ten minutes.

Twenty.

She can’t hold it any longer and gets out of bed and tries to be as quiet as possible as she tiptoes across the apartment to the bathroom. The living room is empty but there’s a light on in the kitchen. Ash hurries into the bathroom and climbs onto the potty, relieving herself quickly. Her heart is going really fast in her chest and she washes her hands because Mama says that she’ll get sick if she doesn’t.

Ash is set to run itno her room when she sees Mama coming out of the kitchen. She’s walking kinda weird, like Ash did after she fell off the monkey bars and Mama made her lie down for a whole day.

“Mama?” Ash whispers, walking up to her.

“Go to bed, Ash,” Mama tells her but Ash is stubborn, Mama has always said that.

“Can you tuck me in?” She asks.

Mama sighs, “Okay, baby, I can do that.” Ash takes her hand and they walk back into her room, her nightlight bright and comforting. Mama takes a little bit to bend over and pat Ash in and she looks even worse standing back up.

“Mama? Can you sleep with me? I’m scared,” she asks and Mama hesitates, her eyes wandering over to the other end of the apartment. But she sighs again and crawls into bed with Ash, curling her body around Ash’s.

“I’ll protect you, baby, I’ve got you,” Mama says and Ash would have believed her before, she thinks. But Mama is hurting and Papa has the Nehrappan. But Mama is still soft and Ash loves her and it’s not so hard to close her eyes and fall asleep.

Her dreams are warm that night. She dreams that the sun has a hundred eyes and wakes up to find Mama gone, but it’s time for school anyways.

Ash is quiet after that night and Mama grows quiet too, but sometimes Papa takes out Nehrappan and makes Ash pull her leggings down. Especially when she’s being Imekari-bas. She doesn’t want to be Imekari-bas, and she really doesn’t want to ever see Nehrappan.

Mama loses weight and she doesn’t look right at Papa much anymore. She sleeps with Ash a lot, in the tiny daybed that feels like it’s getting tinier. But it’s just Ash getting bigger, like she’s supposed to.

On her sixth birthday, Mama gets her a cupcake and gives it to her before Papa can get home.

“Our little secret,” Mama says and winks, smiling for what seems to be the first time in forever. Ashokara grins and claps before leaning forward over the table and blows the candle out. Or she tries to. The candle flickers but the flame stays put. She blows again. The flame wavers and then turns blue.

“Is this a magic candle, or something?” She asks and Mama stares down at her for a long while before taking a big breath.

“Precisely, magic, I’ll go take care of it.” Mama stutters and bends down to take the cupcake. Ash frowns, why can’t it just go out? She doesn’t know when Papa will be home and she wants to have her cupcake!

The flame goes out.

Mama’s eyes widen and Ash grins.

“Yay! I can eat it now!” She removes the candle form the cake and begins to eat the delicious chocolate confection. Mama watches her carefully and after a while, she smiles and kisses Ash’s cheek.

“Careful, sweetheart, you’re getting chocolate all over your face.”

Ashokara  _loves_  chocolate and clearly it loves her too if it wants to be all over her face. But Mama reaches over with a napkin and wipes at her face, making Ash squirm.

She finishes the cupcake and Mama has her get in the bath so they will be extra sure it’s their secret when Papa comes home. Ash is still in the bath when he comes home and she has the strangest urge to duck under the water, but he’s out there…with Mama.

She hears their voices talking and it gets loud very quickly, then quiet. She sinks deeper into the tub and stays there until the water starts to get cold. She slowly gets out of the tub and dries her body, wrapping herself up in her big, fluffy towel. Mama isn’t out in the living room but Papa is. He’s sitting at the table and she pulls the towel closer to her.

“Hi, Papa,” she says in a small voice. Papa says that she has to say hi because otherwise it’s rude. Nehrappan doesn’t like rudeness.

But Papa smiles and stands up and Nehrappan isn’t around his waist and it’s not in his hand either. He walks over to her and wraps his arms around her in a hug.

“Happy birthday, Imekari.” He kisses her forehead and pulls out a card from his back pocket. She opens the card and there’s this dancing pop-out monkey and above the monkey it says “HAPPY 5TH BIRTHDAY!”

“Papa, I’m six.” She says and he sighs.

“They didn’t have any good sixth birthday ones, so I got this one for you! Look! It’s got a monkey! You like monkeys!”

She did like monkeys. When she was four.

“Thank you, Papa,” she says because it’d be rude not to. She hugs him back and thinks about the pretty purple card Mama got her that has sparkles all over it and a great dragon in the middle of it. Ashokara wants to be that dragon, so she can be big and fly her and Mama away.

Away from Papa.

Papa is the one to tuck her into bed, patting her budding horns and telling her to have sweet dreams. He blows the candles out and leaves through the curtains.

The candles flicker back on.

The fire is blue.

She stares at the fire for a long time before sleep finally overtakes her.

The sun with eyes is back and it whispers to her, it says that it can show her things. It says that she’s powerful and that it can teach her so that Papa and Nehrappan will hurt her again. She didn’t like the baby-sun in Teletubies and she doesn’t like this sun now.

“Go away, you’re creepy,” she says and the sun sighs before leaving. A heavy darkness settles over her and she wraps her arms around herself. She falls to her bottom and breathes out, a blue flame suddenly escaping from her mouth.

“What?” She gasps and another blue flame leaves her mouth.

“Am I Ataashi?” She whispers and another flame dances around her face. Ash jumps to her feet and takes a great big breath and lets it out. Blue fire erupts from her mouth and surrounds her, but it doesn’t burn! The world lights up around her and she breathes more and more and more until the space is filled with blue fire. It dances around her and kisses her skin, surrounds her in a comforting embrace.

When Ashokara wakes, Papa is in her room, staring at the chandelier, long since gone out.

“Whatcha doin’, Papa?” She asks.

“Oh nothing….do you want to play hooky?” He asks and she doesn’t even know what that means!

“What’s that?” she asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Not going to school for the day and doing something fun instead.”

“Oh,” she thinks she would much rather do that with Mama, but Nehrappan is around Papa’s waist again and she shifts around on her bed.

“Where’s Mama?”

“She’s not feeling well today, so I thought we could go out and get her a present,” Papa says and smiles and she thinks that maybe for a moment that he wants to be nice again. She remembers when he would pick her up and twirl her around and they’d all dance around in the living room. He’d yell sometimes, but most of the time it was good. He’d kiss her goodnight and he even said he loved Mama once.

“Okay, Papa!” Ash says and jumps form her bed and runs around to pull on her favorite polka-dot dress and pink leggings. Papa says she’s pretty and he holds her hand while they walk to the shopping square a few blocks away.

“What kind of present do you think she’ll like?” Papa asks and Ash hums as she thinks.

“Earrings! Mama likes earrings! Or a stuffed animal! Like, like, a bear!” Ash jumps and skips along the snow lined street, her coat making the funny whooshy sound. There are lights all around because it’s almost Feast Day. There are people singing on corners, dressed in long coats, a bucket that says “For the Needy” at their feet.

“Papa, are we needy?”

“No, not anymore, Imekari,” he says and she nods.

“Can I give them a quarter?” She clutches at his forearm and bounces. The snow slushes under her boots, slipperier than normal.

“Okay, Ash,” he says and pulls a quarter out of his wallet. She takes it and runs over to the people, dropping it into their bucket.

“Happy Feast Day!” She says and they smile at her.

“Thank you, child, Maker bless you.”

“You two! Buh-bye!” She waves bye and runs back over to Papa.

“So, earrings!”

“Or a bear!” Ash giggles. They spend most of the morning in the square and Papa buys a nice pair of earrings. They’re dangly and sparkly and very pretty and Ash picked them out so they’re extra-nice. She has good taste, the nice person at the meetings once said that and they were so pretty that it has to be true if they said it.

Ash tells Papa this and he stops.

“They talked to you?”

“Uh-huh. They’re nice, they gave me a lollipop once because they said I was good during the meeting. It was grape. I like grape.” She fidgets with the frayed edges of the gloves attached to her coat, picking at the fibers before she looks up at Papa. His eyes are scary and she glances down at Nehrappan, almost expecting it to uncoil from his waist on its own.

“Papa, they were just nice…”

“You’re just like your mother,” he growls and he reaches down, taking her hand.

“Ow! You’re holding it too tight!”

“Be quiet, Imekari-bas!” He hisses.

Fear bubbles up in her and she pulls back instinctively. She doesn’t want to go home. Nehrappan gleams on Papa’s waist and Papa throws the brand new earrings in the garbage. He yanks her forward and she falls, only to be dragged back up again.

“OW!” Her arm is wrenched up, yanking at her shoulder and body. She flails back to have him let go but he just yanks her back.

“ _Imekari-bas! We are going home!_ ” He growls in Qunlat and she can’t help but cry all the way back to the apartment. She’s hungry and she falls twice on the way, her legs unable to support her as she keeps staring at Nehrappan.

_He’s going to hurt you!_

_He has no right to hurt you!_

“Le-ea-ea-eave me-e-e a-a-a-lo-o-one!” She sobs and Papa turns around and smacks her. They’re hidden in the shadows behind the building and no one’s around.

“I am your father!”

 _Fathers aren’t supposed to hit their children!_  The voice screams in her head again. She cries harder. What’s going on? She doesn’t understand. What does the nice person have to do with this? They just gave her a lollipop.

_He’s jealous of them! Because he is an awful father himself._

He drags her upstairs where Mama is still in the bedroom. The Nehrappan clicks open and Ash goes numb in fear.

It hurts. It always hurts. It’s longer this time, and he yells at her. Tells her that she is ungrateful, Imekari-bas. Imekari-bas. Bad. Bad. Bad.

He’s crying afterwards and he drapes himself around her, holding her still raw and sensitive body to his. He says he doesn’t want to hurt her, but he doesn’t have a choice if she’s so bad. Why can’t she be good for him? Be good for Papa.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she says, her voice scratchy from all the crying and screaming.

“Can I go to bed?” She asks and he tells her to go, to be good, to wake up better. He says he loves her.

She has to lay down on her stomach to be comfortable. She wants the blanket on top of her but that hurts too. Tears eek out of her eyes which is surprising, she stopped crying halfway through, the tears running dry as she fell against the couch, hiding her face.

Through the haze of tears, she sees the card with the monkey from the other day. She hates that card. She hates that monkey.

_He loves that monkey._

Blue fire suddenly engulfs the card and she gasps.

_Did I do that?_

_Yes, now tell it to go out so it doesn’t set off the alarm._

“Stop,” Ashokara whispers and the flame flickers out.

_That’s amazing, Ashokara. You are very special._

_Who are you?_

_My name is Fury, and I want to help you, Ashokara._

_How?_

Fury tells her that she can teach her spells to protect herself. Fury says that Ashokara is very talented and gifted and that she should not ever be touched like that again.

_He’s my Papa, he doesn’t want to hurt me. He loves me._

_If he did not want to hurt you, he would not. That is not love, that is hatred._ Fury says the things Ashokara has been afraid to say and it suddenly feels better to think them. Fury is right. If he didn’t want to hurt her, he wouldn’t. If he loved Mama, he wouldn’t make her cry so much, she thinks.

Papa brings her lunch an hour after her normal lunch time and says that he loves her again. The soup is cold.

_You can heat it up._

_Tell me how?_  She asks and Fury tells her to close her eyes and think of her hands getting warm and the soup getting hotter. Slowly, so it doesn’t suddenly explode.

 _Now open_.

Ash opens her eyes to see the soup is steaming and her hands don’t even feel burned, just warm. She sips the soup and sighs in relief, not even realizing how hungry she was.

_Anger dulls the senses, I can teach you how to make it your weapon._

But Fury doesn’t teach her more that day, she says it’s important to rest, or she’ll burn herself out. That night, after Papa puts her to bed, Ash shows Fury her trick of breathing the blue fire.

_Like a little Ataashi! Beautiful!_

Elation flows through Ash. She  _is_  a dragon, but instead of flying, she breathes fire. In her dreams she starts to wear scales and her horns curve back from her head, growing large and menacing as her body expands with fire. Fury praises her, tells her that her fire is incredible, that it will protect her well from  _him_.

_What about Mama? Can I protect Mama?_

_Of course. Protect all that you wish from vile such as he._

Ash likes Fury. Fury is made of fire but never hurts Ash. Never calls her Imekari or Imekari-bas.  _I am not bas._

Months pass and Ash learns, even while Nehrappan makes more appearances, and not just for Ash anymore. Mama is tired all the time, and she doesn’t get out of bed much. The store doesn’t do as well, they lose money and Papa gets even more upset.

Summersday arrives and Mama wakes early to gently rouse Ash from sleep.

“Good morning, baby girl. Do you want to go to the festival?” She asks and Ash blinks the sleep away and nods. Mama doesn’t wake her up a lot anymore and she still wears long sleeves, even in the heat, but it’s Mama. 

Mama kisses her forehead and tells her to get dressed.

“There’s pancakes for breakfast!” She declares and Ash dresses even more quickly. Pancakes! Papa is sitting at the table and Ash hesitates just for a moment.

“Good morning, Papa.”

“Good morning, Imekari. Are you excited for the festival?”

She isn’t now that she knows  _he’s_  going, but she smiles and nods.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Good! Eat your breakfast,” he tries to sound happy and good.

 _He is anything but_ , Fury whispers in her ear. Ash takes her seat and eats her breakfast. Mama excuses herself so she can do her makeup, something Ashokara hasn’t seen off her mother in years now. Fury whispers in her head, tallying up her father’s sins as if she weren’t already aware of every little infraction he’s levied against them.

But then Mama comes back out and they leave for the festival where Ash actually has a good time. They ride the Ferris Wheel and look out below them, watching the people run around like ants.

“I wish I could fly, I would be a real Ataashi then,” she says and her Mama laughs.

“Ashokara the Ataashi, that sounds like a wonderful story to me,” she says and Ash beams. Ashokara the Ataashi…she likes that…she likes that  _a lot_.

They come down from the Ferris Wheel and Mama gets her a corndog then insists on waiting to ride anything for a long time while they digest. Even after waiting ten minutes, they go on the Merry-Go-Round before the bigger rides. Ash scrambles up onto a plastic horse and watches the world, spinning in a rhythm to the high pitched song playing over the speakers.

She laughs and feels like a little girl, a real little girl, for the first the time in what feels like forever.

They spend the rest of the day there, running through the hay-bale maze, eating cotton-candy, and riding on the dragon rollercoaster that goes a little too fast on its wooden track. Ash collapses into a tired heap on her day bed when the get home, drifting happily into a pure sleep.

Fury isn’t there when she dreams, or if she is, she doesn’t want to come out. Ash is fine with it because she can dream of other things, like giant gummy bears and friendly dragons. Two dragons fly overhead, one purple, the other a dark green. She waves at them and breathes her blue fire at them in greeting.

Their forms waver and disappear and of course they do, she’s dreaming, that’s how it is.

A crash wakes her suddenly, wrenching her out of the Fade and into the waking world. Her heart is racing and something is  _wrong_. Her breathing is labored and she feels Fury press into her.

_He has gone too far._

_What do I do?_

_What we’ve been training for, Ashokara. Take a deep breath, you’re ready._

She does as Fury says and steps out of her room, breathing deeply. The chandelier lights with blue fire and it’s time, she thinks, that Papa knows exactly what he’s been doing this entire time.

When Ashokara enters the living room, Mama is on the floor, clutching her face, blood streaming down from a gash on the skin at the base of one of her horns. Ash blinks, once, twice, then looks up at Papa. His hand is bloody, the rest of him covered in sweat. Nehrappan rests in his left hand, the one not covered in blood. Fear blooms in her chest at seeing Nehrappan but Fury growls in her mind  and tells her to stand tall.

“Go back to bed, Imekari,” Papa says.

Ash does not listen to him. Her knees and hands shake but she does not move.

“Go to bed, sweetheart, I’ll be there soon, okay?” Mama says and Ash takes a deep breath. Mama is  _lying_.

“Leave her alone,” Ash says instead. Papa leans back in surprise.

“What did you say?” He growls.

His hand tightens around Nehrappan. Ash grits her teeth.

“I said…leave her alone!” Ash says more forcefully, her hands turning into fists. The temperature in the room begins to rise and the candles in the room all suddenly turn blue. The lights flicker and for a moment she sees fear on her father’s face, fear that he had stepped too far, and when he turns his gaze to her, she realizes that fear is of  _her_.

_You are his worst nightmare._

_Good._

“ _Saarebas_ ,” he hisses and she smiles.

“ _Imesaar-bas_ ,” she corrects and sucks in a deep breath.

“Ashokara –

“Ashokara, sweetheart, baby, you don’t want to be bad, right? You don’t want to hurt me, you love me!” He pleads and Ash frowns.

“I do not love you and I want to hurt you,” she whispers, smoke trickling out of her mouth. She sucks in another breath as he clenches a fist around Nehrappan.

“Imekari-bas - “

“I AM NOT IMEKARI-BAS!” She screams, letting out the breath she has been holding. Blue flames erupt from her mouth and latch onto her father. Mama lurches up from her spot on the floor, face still caked in blood.

“ASH!”

_That is what I will turn him into._

_What we’ll turn him into_.

She lets out another deep breath, more flames leaping from her mouth and the candles in the house suddenly shoot up, setting the wallpaper on fire.

“Stop this! You’re killing him! You’ll kill us!” Mama shouts, dragging herself up from the floor and to Ash. Arms come around the girl and she briefly stops to hug her mother.

“I’m doing this for us, Mama. He can’t hurt us again.” She turns from her mother then and waves her hand, encouraging the various small fires on the walls to leap off and latch onto the burning man in front of her. His screams are deafening and she supposes she should feel something watching this man burn to death. Sorrow at the death of her father, but he hasn’t been her father for some time now. Relief because he can’t hurt them anymore as the flames dig into his body.

She lets out another breath and the flames grow, engulfing him fully as he writhes and writhes, falling to the floor finally. She raises her hands and the fire swells in a great uproar. Her blood sings in her, Fury cheers in her, and she is scared. Not relieved or sorrowful.

Ashokara is  _scared_.

But the flames roar and demand to be moved, so she moves them down onto her now silent father. She’s pretty sure he’s dead now, his body just a smoldering husk of what was. The scent of burnt skin and leather fills the space with the smoke and she hears Mama sobbing.

“Mama, don’t cry, please don’t cry. He can’t hurt us anymore,” she says and the fire grows without her saying okay. It rises and grows and she tries to hold onto it, onto her magic, but the blue bleeds out of the fire, giving way to furious orange.

_Fury._

_I can save you and your mother. You just need to let me in._

_I –_

The windows explode with the pressure from the flames and suddenly it’s all closer than it should be.

“Ash, we need to leave now, Ash….” Mama says, but she starts coughing and Ash realizes that she’s not like her. Mama can’t survive this. Mama isn’t….

_Fury –_

The door suddenly breaks in and two tall people are suddenly there.

“You get the child, she started the fire. I will get the woman,” the one with short hair says and she recognizes them as they hurry over to Mama. The pretty elf who smiled at Mama all those years ago, the one who gives her lollipops.

The other elf runs over to Ash but she doesn’t know this one. She grabs hold of one of the flames and wraps it around herself.

“ASH!” Mama coughs, bringing her hands up to hide herself from the flames as the nice person somehow carries her outside. Good, Mama will be safe, Ash can be here with the fire, it can’t hurt her.

“Your name is Ash? I’m Selene,” the elf says, trying to ease closer to Ash.

“Go away.”

“I want to help you.”

She hesitates, Selene looks nice and she waves at the fire, purple sparks coming out of her hands.

Ash’s eyes widen.

“You’re like me?” She whispers and Selene nods, inching closer.

“Will you let me help you?” she asks again and Ash glances back at her father’s body and then back at Selene.

“He deserved it, y’know,” she says quietly. Another window breaks from the pressure. Selene nods and holds her hand out.

“I have no doubt he deserved every second.”

Fury is screaming in her ear, demanding she be let in, how dare Ashokara let her down like this. How dare –

Ash takes Selene’s hand and falls into a tight hug, tears suddenly running down her face. She sobs into her shirt as she is lifted up into Selene’s arms and is carried outside.

Her knuckles turn white as she grips Selene’s shirt, unable to let go even a bit. Her body wracked with sobs shakes in the woman’s grip.

Ash barely sees the flashing lights of the sirens, the people running into the apartment to put the fire out. They’ll find his body and they’ll know, know she killed her own father. But Fury is quiet at least, now that she’s in Selene’s arms.

“They’re taking Kassaran to the hospital,” the nice person says and Ash screams.

“I have to go with her!” She screams and bucks in Selene’s grip.

“MAMA!”

“We’ll go, Ash. Okay? We’ll go, I…don’t have a car.”

“Take mine, I’ll handle the cops.”

“Thank you,” Selene says and they’re moving again. The sobs are quieting down and Selene gets Ash to detach herself enough to sit in the front seat as Selene takes the driver spot.

“Are they gonna take me away?” She asks absently as they pull out of the parking lot and she sees the firefighters still fighting the fire she started.

“No. I will not let that happen,” Selene says and she sounds very serious and Ash guesses that she can believe her. They head down the road towards the hospital and she really hopes that she didn’t somehow kill her Mama too.

_Please let her be okay, I never wanted her to die._


	7. A Year in Love

Dirthamen’s walk back to work is…cold. Perhaps he should not have given his coat away, after all. But it  seemed like the appropriate solution, since it had been his own disorientation that ruined the womans sweater.

He could not shake the feeling that he has seen her somewhere before.

 

It nags at him for the rest of his day, distracting him from his usual responsibilities. Thoughts of snow white hair and tanned skin. Green eyes reflecting the light with a knowing smirk and something beneath the surface that pulls at his curiosities. His fingers twitch against his keyboard, moving through familiar numbers and figures while his thoughts drift to images of her in his coat. To what little clothing she had been wearing beneath it.

It certainly makes for an interesting day.

 

He finds it curious then, as he heats up a frozen dinner later in the evening that technically meets all his nutritional requirements, that his phone rings from an unsaved and unrecognized number.

 

“Hello?” he greets, the microwave humming away in the kitchen as he moves towards the living room.

“Hi. Hello. Is this-uh-is this Dirthamen? I mean, Mr. Evanuris?”

 

Oh.

It is the woman from the coffee shop.

 

“Yes. Is this the young woman from this afternoon?”

“Yes! Yes, uh-my name’s-my name’s Selene. I wanted to thank you, for lending me your coat and getting my sweater cleaned.”

“It was no trouble,” Dirthamen assures her, fingers rubbing slowly against the edge of his sleeve.

“Well, it was very sweet,” Selene responds. There’s a pause, and someone off in the distance that Selene bickers slightly with before speaking to him again “I’d like to return your coat to you in person, if that’s alright. Maybe buy you a coffee to replace the one that got spilled? If you’d be ok with that?”

 

Dirthamen considers her offer for a moment. It would give him an opportunity to speak with her again, which he thinks he would like. Perhaps further discussions might illuminate where he has seen her before.

“Yes. I would enjoy that.”

“Great!” Selene exclaims before clearing her throat “I mean, yeah, that’s-that’s great. When are you free?”

“I could make it to the coffee shop for my lunch break again tomorrow around 12:30pm, if that is an agreeable time for you.”

“Yeah, sure, I can make that.”

 

Dirthamen nods, before realizing that she can not see it “Then we are in agreement.”

Selene is silent for a few moments before she lets out a soft chuckle that makes his stomach swirl with an oddly warm sensation. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, Dirthamen.”

“Yes. Have a pleasant evening.” He greets. After a few more moments, the phone clicks off and he leaves to remove his now-finished-cooking dinner from the microwave. He is actually looking forward to going to work in the morning.

It is a sensation he has not felt in quite some time.

–

 

Selene is nervous. She’s not sure why, it’s ridiculous, really. She’s just returning his coat and buying him a coffee. Totally casual.

…And maybe it’s a date? Her first one in a long while, to be sure. Ana did her hair though. And helped her pick out an outfit. The black thermal leggings with boots and her red turtleneck dress certainly do give her a nicer silhouette than the sweater had.

Maybe it’s too much, though.

She’s debating running back to the apartment and changing, since it’s just a few blocks away, when Dirthamen shows up.

He spots her and hesitates before waving. She waves back, feeling just a little giddy that he actually showed.

“Hey, long time no see,” She teases.

“It has only been approximately twenty four hours. And we spoke on the phone last night,” he points out.

“Yes, I was-” Selene smiles and shakes her head “You’re right. How are you doing? How was work?”

“I am doing fine. Work was…also fine. And you?”

“I’m good! Work was slow last night, but it’ll pick up,” She smiles.

“Customer service slows down?” Dirthamen blinks

Selene pauses. Right. ‘Customer service’.

“Yeah. Well, you know,” Selene explains “People are busy with work during the week so most of them come in after their workdays or on weekends for assistance.”

 

Dirthamen nods, apparently satisfied with her answer and she breathes a small sigh of relief as they approach the barista. Selene places her coffee order, a white chocolate mocha with an extra shot of espresso, and Dirthamen places his own and Selene pays for both before he can object.

 

“I told you, this is my treat to make up for yesterday.”

 

He nods, and manages to grab a small booth for the two of them near the front window. 

The conversation is awkward, at first. Navigating pitfalls and dead ends before Dirthamen mentions that he works as an accountant, and Selene mentions her love of numbers. The conversation quickly shifts in tone, each of them easing from one subject to another with ease as they manage to find a rhythm that is comfortable for each of them. Dirthamen laughs at one of Selene’s puns and she grins wider than she has with anyone other than Ana in a long, long time. It’s quite a nice sound, she thinks. She’d like to hear it more often.

 

Two hours pass before Dirthamens phone rings, and he frowns as he realizes he has overstayed his lunch period.

“I’m sorry,” Selene apologizes, reaching to hand him his coat.

“It is no fault of yours. I had quite a nice time,” He ensures her. He shakes his head as she tries to give him his coat back. “You may hold on to that a bit longer.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he nods before giving her a soft smile “It will give us a good excuse to do this again.”

 

Selene laughs lightly and pulls the coat closer to herself “You don’t need an excuse. Anytime you’d like to do this again, I’d love to.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps?”

Selene opens her mouth to agree before realizing that tomorrow is the rehearsal for the new holiday routines at Unveiled and she has a costume fitting with Aelynthi in the afternoon. “Tomorrow’s actually bad for me,” she says sheepishly “But I can do Friday?”

Dirthamen nods “Friday, then.” and heads out the door, flicking his phone open and trying to calm whomever is on the other end of it.

 

Selene lets out a slight sigh before she pulls the coat closer to her and slips it on.

It’s still very comfortable.

–

After the third date, Selene decides she should tell Dirthamen her actual profession. He probably won’t make a big deal about it, and if they’re going to continue with their relationship she’d like to keep as few secrets between them as she can.

 

She talks to Melarue about it, first. Melarue, who is lounging in their office chair and staring at her over the rim of their spectacles, a half filled wine glass sitting on their desk beside a calculator and a stack of paper work.

 

“So, I’m seeing someone,” Selene opens, sitting sideways in the chair, legs draped over one armrest while her back is against the other.

“Congratulations,” Melarue drawls. “Is it going to interfere with your work?”

“Proooobably not? It shouldn’t, anyways. But I wanted to tell him where I work, at least.”

“What’s his name?”

“Dirthamen Evanuris.”

 

Melarue pauses, wine halfway to their mouth before it clangs loudly against their desk. Selene is mostly impressed the glass didn’t shatter on impact when they slammed it down.

 

“No.” Melarue states plainly.

Selene frowns “What do you mean 'no’?”

“Do you know what  _he_  does for a living?”

“He’s an accountant.”

“He’s part of a crime syndicate, and likely the heir. I don’t want him, or his family, anywhere near my club. Given your own background, I don’t know why you would even want to associate with him.”

“He’s sweet. And he’s honest. He’s not like those people from Tevinter-”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? He  **is**  one of those people from Tevinter. His whole family is one of the larger presences there. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had been involved in your own sale, trafficking is hardly a new transgression of theirs.”

 

Selene can feel her body heat rising, the edges of her vision turning slightly purple as Melarues skin starts to look just a bit more scaly to her. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Melarue scoffs, then leans back in their chair. “You’re an adult, Selene. I’m not going to tell you how to run your life, professional or personal. Those are your decisions. Just keep him away from my club, and try not to get hurt.”

 

“I shouldn’t send you an invitation to the wedding then, hm?” Desire teases.

  
“I’ll be sure to send a nice gift,” Deceit replies.

 

Well.

Selene supposes she won’t be telling him after all, then.

–

 

They have sex for the first time at Selene and Ana’s apartment, while Ana is staying with Melarue. Ana and Aelynthi’s big sister is visiting with her son, and they’re all having some big family dinner which means Selene has the apartment to herself and can’t resist the opportunity.

It is a very long night, but everyone involved seems happy and satisfied by morning.

 

There is a lot of cuddling after that. Not that there wasn’t plenty involved before, but the vast amount of their dates turn into cuddle sessions on one of their couches, or board games, or a few particularly intense nights of Super Smash Brothers with Ana and Aelynthi.

It’s wonderful, and comfortable, and easy, and before long Selene forgets Melarue’s warnings amidst all the birthdays and holidays and the occasional tiff with his brother. Selene always makes sure he stays at her place, after those, and gives Ana ample warning.

 

And then their anniversary arrives.

 

Selene wears the turtleneck dress again, and the leggings, and the boots. It’s a nice callback, she thinks. Dirthamen takes her for a nice dinner and a walk through their favorite park before taking her back home. Ana is staying with Venavismi for the night, supposedly just to give Selene and Dirthamen some privacy but Selene is pretty sure they’ve just finally managed to move into confronting their own emotions, and she’s happy for them.

 

Selene is leaning over Dirthamen, his back against the couch cushions while she straddles him. She’s slowly unbuttoning his shirt when he pulls back and asks if they can talk. Selene blinks, and moves off of him, and he retrieves a box from the pocket of his coat. It is black, and wrapped in an extravagant purple ribbon.

“So,” he breathes, clearly nervous about something “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for…for some time now.”

“…Is everything ok?”

“Yes. I believe so. It is just…we have met before, and I do not know if you knew that.”

Selene raises an eyebrow and smirks at him “I don’t usually straddle guys on the first date, Dirthamen.”

He fiddles with the edges of his sleeves nervously “I am being unclear. I mean, our paths had crossed before I spilled the coffee on you.”

  
Selene can feel her stomach turning to lead as he continues speaking. She can hear him, but it sounds muted, like he’s above the water level while she slowly drowns. Mentions of parties, and Tevinter, and the name of  _That Magister_  as Selene’s blood starts to boil beneath her skin.

Deep breaths, she reminds herself. Deep breaths, don’t turn, don’t turn  _here_ , don’t turn  _now_.

 

“The reports said you had died in the fire,” he is saying when she manages to feel as though her body is almost her own again. “I understand if you do not wish to discuss it. But I did not want you to feel as though I was deceiving you, and the longer I did not tell you, the more it felt like I was lying to you.”

 

Selene is silent for a long while before she manages to squeak out a soft “How long?”

 

“I realized after our fourth date,” Dirthamen admits “But I was unsure if it was something you would rather tell me about, so I did not want to push it.”

 

“…right” Selene whispers, dragging her hand down her face.

 

Dirthamen shifts a bit awkwardly, before handing her the box “I thought you would like this.”

 

Selene carefully takes the box, and opens it.

It is a beautifully crafted diamond necklace with a stunning white-gold chain.

 

Selene thinks she might be sick just looking at it.

 

“What the hell is this?” She hisses, more of Des rising to the surface before she can help it.

Flashes of satin and gold and a necklace just like this one around her neck spark amidst her vision as she violently tosses the gift back at Dirthamen. 

“You think-what, you think because I was presented as the paramour to some asshole Magister when I was a child that you could-that you could just  _buy_  me with diamonds? Is that it? That you could tell me that you remember when I  was a slave and then you would give me a token of that time and expect me to-to-to what, just fall back into that mindset so you can be the oh-so-gracious master? Fuck you.  _Fuck you_ , fuck that. Fuck-fuck everything!” She screams. 

He looks stunned. She can feel something in the back of her head nagging at her. That’s not how he meant the gift, that’s probably not at all what he meant to imply but everything is drowned out by Melarue’s warnings and memories of rough hands and cold cells and burning houses and her body is on autopilot as she continues screaming at this man she had loved so deeply just a few minutes prior. “Get out! Get out of my house, get out of my life-just-just GET OUT!”

 

Dirthamen scrambles, the gift and his coat all but forgotten on the couch as he quickly makes his way out the door. Selene slams it behind him, tears streaming down her face for reasons she can’t quite place. She crumples against the door.

Ana finds her in the morning passed out on their freshly burnt couch.


	8. June

It has been a week since Selene threw Dirthamen out of her apartment.

 

A week since their anniversary, since her flashback, since the nightmares started up again. Every chill reaching down her spine and taking hold of her fears, every stray noise sending her onto high alert, sparks dripping from her fingertips. Every unfamiliar face at the club requesting a private dance a potential trap, someone sent to recapture her, or punish her for her crimes.

A week since Des decided to start speaking up.

 

_‘Call. Him.’_  He insists for the hundredth time.

_‘No’,_  she dismisses again, tired of having the same conversation over and over already.

Des groans and Selene pushes him farther back, behind imagined doors and hallways that will take him time to push through, as they always do. A few minutes of peace.

 

At least until her doorbell rings.

 

Selene freezes, running through who it could be. Ana is out scoping a new trail in the hills today, Aelynthi is in Orlais with Victory, checking out some new art exhibit, Melarue is probably buried in wine and papers at the club as usual, and Dirthamen…

It wouldn’t be Dirthamen.

Probably.

 

But her fingers twitch, and she slowly makes her way to the door as whoever is on the other side knocks. Not politely enough to be Dirthamen, she realizes.

But she opens the door anyways, spell wound and ready within the fist she has hidden behind the door.

 

She blinks at the familiar face, dark skin and tight curls atop his head.

  
“Hello, Selene,” June grins. “Can I come in?”

 

Selene hesitates, taking a quick stock of the elf and ensuring there’s no one else with him. His shirt’s not designer, it’s something fashioned for comfort and practicality over aesthetic, so Sylaise is probably out of town. Not a work uniform though, so he’s not on the clock, and unlikely to drag her off to…wherever they take people that ‘wrong’ the family, she supposes. Not that he’s likely to get very far if he tried.

 

“I suppose that depends on why you’re here,” Selene answers.

“Just wanted to talk.”

Selene frowns and moves to close the door “I’d rather not. Have a nice day.”

 

The wood smacks against the boot Jun has wedged into her door frame and she lets out a puff of air.

“C'mon. We can go somewhere else, if you’d be more comfortable,” he offers

“Why would I be comfortable anywhere right now?”

“We’re friends, I’m not gonna hurt you, Selene.”

Her eyebrow raises in skepticism as she responds with “Since when are we friends?”

 

He shrugs “Sylaise doesn’t hate you, you don’t take Elgar'nans shit laying down, and your eyes don’t glaze over when I talk about my projects. That’s pretty good, I think.”

“That’s a very strange list of requirements you know. You must be very lonely.”

June huffs “I hate the pity thing, don’t do that. You wanna go for a walk or something?”

Selene hums as she debates it, but ultimately grabs her coat and shoots off a quick text to Ana in case she ends up missing.

 

 

The cold winter air hits her hard when she steps out onto her apartment buildings steps. The Evanuris Empire Building is still looming in the middle of the skyline and she has to tear her eyes away from it and walk in the opposite direction, towards the local park. June is at least polite enough not to mention it.

It’s an awkward silence, mostly. Selene’s not really willing to concede to making this easy for June, since he’s the one who showed up unannounced. Eventually, he breaks it with

“Did you know they discovered a new breed of frog in Seheron?”

“Nope.” Selene pops.

“Apparently it’s very brightly colored. Part of a family of highly poisonous frogs in the area, but 'exceptionally beautiful’,” June adds with air quotes.

“Uh-huh.”

“Ghilan'nain was telling me about it at the last family gathering.”

 

Oh. Right, there was a dinner on…what, Wednesday, she thinks? That she was supposed to go with Dirthamen to.

“I didn’t know you cared about frogs,” she evades.

“I don’t! But I still had to sit and listen to her go on and on about them for like an hour because there was no one else to talk to while they were doing their 'blood only’ discussions. Like Andruil and Sylaise aren’t gonna tell us everything afterwards anyways.”

“Oh, I hate those,” Selene agrees, face scrunching slightly at the memory “I’m pretty sure Mythal just has them to air her kids dirty laundry and keep them fighting to remind them she’s in charge. Dirthamen was always so tired afterwards.”

 

“Yeah. He uh…” June scrubs slightly at the side of his head “I think Dirthamen still sort of expected you to show. Or something. He was pretty upset the whole night, I’ve never seen him like that.”

“You’ve known Dirthamen years longer than I have, of course you’ve seen him upset before,” Selene argues.

 

“Not like this.” June explains, taking a turn in a direction away from the park, and towards a higher income section of the city “I’ve seen him with his arm barely hanging onto its socket, I’ve seen him exhausted physically, magically and mentally, I’ve seen him take a lot of blame and shit that he doesn’t always deserve, but that was the first time I saw him actually  _cry_.”

 

A stab of guilt hits Selene square in the chest, but she pushes through it “You don’t even like Dirthamen,” she points out.

“True,” June agrees “But I don’t think he actually realized he was crying. There were tears streaming down his cheeks and he just kept eating and talking about the business. Even Andruil was uncomfortable, Selene.  _Andruil_ gave him a pat on the shoulder _.”_

 

Selene pauses in front of the newly constructed building while June holds the door open and scrubs her hand down her face, desperate to change the subject. “You know, you really shouldn’t have planted these giant round bushes on either side of your tower. It just makes it look more like a penis.”

 

“I’m going to give you a pass on that one, because I know you’re just projecting.” June responds slowly, although she can see the vein on his forehead start to throb slightly with the effort of it and smirks to herself as she walks into the building. She trails behind him as he stops to approve and make small changes with the still working contractors and electricians, following him up to the roof.

 

“So, what exactly happened?” June segues.

Selene sighs “Does it matter?”

“If it’s the difference between having someone at those dinners and future events I can hold a conversation with, and listening to someone tell me the latest about cannibalistic nugs, yeah.”

Selene snorts, and leans against the railing. “He was hiding something from me, finally told me about it, and I took it badly.”

 

June blinks, and leans against the railing beside her “That’s it?”

Selene frowns “As far as you’re concerned, yeah.”

 

He stares off, watching the clouds drift across the changing colors of the sunset “That’s not so bad. You could come back from that.”

 

“Maybe I don’t want to,” Selene argues, getting riled over his dismissive tone “It’s not my responsibility to make sure Dirthamen is doing alright after I kicked him out for being an ass. He’s a grown man, and we’re living separate lives now. He’ll move on eventually, and coddling him isn’t going to help him move past anything. So if you’re here on his behalf or whatever, you can bite me.”

 

“Sending me isn’t his style, and you know it. Besides, I wouldn’t do it for him even if he  _had_  asked me,” June sighs “I’m sure he’s tried to contact you somehow by now, right? Texting, or sky writing or something?”

 

Selene huffs, gaze turning back to the sky “He gave me a letter.”

 

“Well, seeing you again after took courage, maybe-”

 

“No, no, you misunderstand. Maybe I phrased it wrong. I mean he  _mailed_  me a letter. Through the post office. Even though I live within walking distance of his office.”

“Yeah, see,  _that_  sounds more like him.”

 

Selene actually chuckles at that, and June turns to face her.

“You read it yet?”

“No.”

“You should.”

 

Selene just shrugs. “Maybe one day. I’m still mad right now.”

 

June nods and turns back to face the city beneath them. Silence passes between the pair for far longer than Selene keeps track of as she watches the clouds move, the sun setting further beneath the horizon.

 

“You know Mythal offered me a check, when I started dating Sylaise,” June finally speaks. Selene turns to him with a questioning look, waiting for him to continue.

“We were…well, we were young, and my family wasn’t badly off but my mother had died a few years prior and I spent most of my time trying to avoid my father. Mythal handed me enough money to send the both of us to separate sides of the globe and live out very long, extravagant lives. The catch of course, being that I had to leave her daughter, forever. No more contact, no messages, no anything.”

 

Selene tsks. “So I assume you threw it back in her face and told her 'no amount of money could compare to your love for Sylaise’ or some other romantic line?”

“Oh no, I took the check. Used it to buy my dad a house in an isolated area far, far away from me. And then I bought Sylaise’s engagement ring with the rest.”

“Oh I bet Mythal was  _thrilled.”_ Selene laughs.

“Weirdly, she actually was. I think that was when she actually started to respect me.”

 

Selene hums softly in response, before June straightens a bit and turns to meet her gaze “I guess my point is, that they’re terrible people. It’s a terrible family, with enough problems to easily make a team of therapists very, very rich and keep them very, very busy. They pretty much think they’re gods, and others often treat them like they are, which only makes it worse. But they’re still  _people.”_

 Selene nods slowly, still skeptical.

“This is supposed to convince me to…what? Go back to Dirthamen and his shitty family?”

“Nah. That’s your choice to make, and I can be a pretty selfish person myself but I’m not going to force you to date someone you’re genuinely done with. But I don’t think you’re actually done with him.”

“You sound awfully sure of yourself, there.”

“Well, you’ve listened to me ramble on for over an hour now. I don’t really see you doing that for someone you don’t still have some kind of feelings for.”

 

Selene frowns while Des laughs and the two of them are unable to formulate an acceptable retort. June straightens fully, no longer resting on the railing as he strides towards the door to the stairwell to make his way back downstairs. “You should probably at least read the letter. For me, or for yourself, if you won’t do it for him.”

“You’re a real manipulative bastard, you know that?” Selene huffs, following him down and out through the building.

 

“Yeah, well, I did choose to marry into that terrible family. I’ve probably got my own issues somewhere, but I’m pretty well done with heart to hearts and self-reflection. Want to come back to my place for a beer and to admire some of my projects?”

  
Selene debates the pros and cons of spending her evening that way, rather than bundled up on the couch with Netflix and some Sudoku.

“Am I allowed to tease you about stupid aesthetic choices that make all your buildings look phallic?”

“Within reason.”

“Then make it tequila and I’m in.”

“Done,” June agrees walking out the final set of doors and chirping his car alarm.


	9. June's Backstory

The first time June meets Falon’Din is at a dinner with Sylaise’s family, in the first few months of them dating. A few years after his mother’s death, avoiding his father while his nanae tries to get him to stop doing that, as he searches and strives and tries to find a way to get past the heavy weight of his grief.

Sylaise warns June that her eldest brother can be ‘abrasive.’ June is expecting something like an ‘if you ever hurt my little sister I’ll destroy you’ speech. Something along the lines of what Elgar’nan had treated him to, the very first time Sylaise introduced them. A quiet aside, some well-meaning threats and posturing. June doesn’t really hold it against anyone. If he had a child he’d probably… be a terrible parent. But, he would definitely also threaten to topple a building onto anyone who breached whatever terms surrounded their relationship.

June figures that once he gets in good with them, though, they’ll all calm down and be less worrisome than Sylaise’s mother. 

Falon’Din doesn’t follow that script, though. Falon’Din basically ignores June for most of the night, getting into aggressive pissing contests with his father instead, and when he finally  _does_  acknowledge June’s presence, it’s with a dismissive glance and an insult. One that makes his blood boil; one he ends up laughing off, just the same, too uncertain to start picking fights yet. He adjusts, eventually. He gets used to Andruil’s jabs and Ghilan’nain’s odd conversational topics, Dirthamen’s ditzy genius thing and Elgar’nan’s inability to control his volume. Even Mythal’s whole ‘benevolent matriarch’ spiel isn’t so bad, in the right context.

But the thing about Falon’Din is, the more time spent with him, the worse he gets.

Like when he visits one of June’s first crowning architectural achievements and has sex in the fountain.

Like when he rear-ends June’s car and then tries to pretend he hadn’t even though  _June saw him._

Like when he looks at a picture of June’s dead mother and goes ‘I wouldn’t kick her out of bed’.

Like when he punches June’s father, June’s  _father,_  who for all his faults is not a man who people should just  _be punching._

And June’s not actually blind, whatever some people might think. He knows what a healthy family looks like well enough to know that he hasn’t married into one. He has siblings, he knows what it’s like when one tries to shift blame onto another, or gets into squabbles, or pokes at another’s insecurities, and as obnoxious as that is, it’s not like that with Falon’Din and Dirthamen. June’s reasonably sure that Falon’Din abuses his brother, that he’s been hurting and exploiting him their whole lives.

He wouldn’t really care, except that he hates Falon’Din so much.

_So much._

The man looked at a picture of June’s  _dead mother_  and said he would fuck her. June’s never letting that go, even if he technically told Mythal he let it go. It’s the bribe check all over again, really, and he’s going to cash his revenge chips one day. He’s had daydreams about just pushing Falon’Din into oncoming traffic, but he still can’t quite figure out how to do it so that Mythal won’t  _know_  he did it. And also he’s pretty sure there are about fifteen thousand hits already out on the man. He’s not quite so stupid as to put his own neck on the line when someone else might just do all the messy work for him.

But if there is one thing that pisses Falon’Din off above and beyond all others, it’s seeing his meek, subservient brother  _dividing_  his attention.

June would like Selene even if the only thing he knew about her was that she once flipped Falon’Din a pair of double birds and told him to blow himself, but then she turned out to be a pretty decent conversationalist and the gods only know, he needed one of those to marry into his gong show of a family if only so his options weren’t just Ghilan’nain or the walls whenever Mythal got all clannish and scheming.

And, on another level, June can admit that it was… nice. It was  _nice_  seeing Dirthamen escape some of his brother’s overbearing fuckery. Nice seeing someone who actually did the noble thing, sometimes. But not in the stupid ways, either. Selene is smart and careful and she’s got Dirthamen wrapped around her finger, and June’s pretty sure that Dirthamen is the kind of person who needs  _somebody_  to wrap himself around – metaphorically; or maybe also literally, it’s not like he would know – and, well. Better the likes of Selene than the likes of Falon’Din.

So his reasons for approaching Selene are practical. Purely practical.

He’s not ‘being nice’ and his wife really doesn’t need to look at him like that. But if she  _is_ going to look at him like that, well…

June leans in, and presses a kiss to her lips.

“Stop grinning at me,” he insists.

“You’re sweet sometimes. It’s cute,” she insists, patting the side of his cheek. “Maybe if Selene doesn’t want Dirthamen, she’ll consider throwing in her chips with us. I like her legs.”

June sighs.

“Somehow I don’t think she’d go for it,” he laments.

More’s the pity; June rather likes her legs, too.


	10. Thenvunin

Thenvunin was very young when his mother and grandparents died.

He couldn’t remember a lot of things about his life before then. Just vague impressions; the scent of lavender, the feel of soft fabrics, and pretty jewellery. A garden full of purple flowers, and a voice full of affection; a voice lost to the long stretch of years. He could remember one of his mother’s friends holding him, afterwards, though he could not recall their name. Their grip was tight as he asked where his mother was. And he could remember his father, and shouting. The sinking pit of dread that knotted up in his stomach, as everyone fought and the world seemed to grow cold and dark, and his mother never came home.

He couldn’t remember moving, but he knew that they did. He knew he stopped seeing purple flowers and soft fabrics, stopped seeing much of anything beyond the off-white walls of his bedroom, and the corridors of hospitals, for a long time. When he was nine his father had him admitted to a private care facility; an expensive place, Thenvunin was told, that was supposed to help him. He was scared to go, didn’t want to, but his father was remarrying and Thenvunin needed looking after and it was only for a little while, he promised. Just until things settled down. Then, if Thenvunin was good, he could come home.

The six years he spent in the facility were years he would rather not remember. But by the time he was fifteen the healers had done as promised, and he could walk without braces or crutches, and stand up straight, and the gangly teenaged elf who stared back at him from the mirror didn’t look  _so_  different from the ones on television or in movies. He wrote his father every week like clockwork, asking if he could come home.

And for his fifteenth birthday, he finally got back a  _yes._

It was the best birthday gift he could remember getting.

Even if it wasn’t his father who came to pick him up at the facility gates. He tried to squash the disappointment he felt, and the confusion, before he recognized the woman picking him up as the same one in some of the photographs he’d gotten from letters home. His step-mother. In his mind Thenvunin had built her up as a real villain, as the wicked woman who told his father to send him away, who was the reason why he couldn’t come home.

But when she greeted him it was with a broad smile, and as she walked around the side of the car, Thenvunin saw the distinctive swell of her stomach, and his eyes became huge.

“You’re pregnant!” he blurted.

His step-mother blinked, and let out a surprised laugh.

“Well of course,” she said. “Your father  _must_  have told you. Didn’t you get his letter?”

Thenvunin shifted in place, and shook his head, mute with the surprise of it. Although… was it really  _so_  surprising? They’d been married for years now, after all.

“Maybe there was a mix up with the mail,” he suggested, a little weakly. Pregnant! He was going to be a brother! He was going home, and there was going to be a baby around, and Thenvunin wasn’t entirely sure of what to do with that information. He insisted on stowing his own bags away in the little grey car that his step-mother had driven up in, and found himself frowning at her stomach on and off for the whole drive home. This plot twist had more or less derailed most thoughts he’d had of what their introduction might be like.

And then they got home.  _Home,_  to a little house with paint peeling off the siding, and a chain link fence, and a broken screen door. But it was a house, just the same. The house where Thenvunin’s family lived, where  _he_  could live, like a normal person. When they got inside Thenvunin’s father was there. He stood up, and the two of them looked at one another for a long moment. And then his father hugged him, and Thenvunin cried until he got told off for it.

“None of that; you’re almost grown, now,” his father said.

“Sorry,” Thenvunin murmured. Abashed but also  _relieved,_  beyond measure. Maybe, he thought, having a baby of her own had made his step-mother kinder. Maybe that was the key, and it could all be bygones, and everyone would get along from that day forward.

His father didn’t speak to him much more beyond his welcome home. They ordered in dinner to celebrate, tiny little take-out packets that were very different from the facility’s meals, and his step-mother showed him his room – it was small, but there was no window in the door, and no roommates to share it with, and it only locked from the  _inside._  There was a little closet and a square window overlooking the street, and a crib in the corner.

Thenvunin blinked at that.

“We’ll move that into our room, when it’s time,” his step-mother explained. “But there’s not a lot of space, and your father’s work bench is in there right now…”

“It’s fine,” Thenvunin assured her.

She smiled at him, and then produced a little blue box from the pocket of her sweater.

“I almost forgot,” she said. “This is for you. It’s… it’s not really a  _gift,_  it’s more something you should have as an inheritance. Finances have been a bit rough since your father lost his job. And with the baby coming, we had to sell a lot of things. But, I managed to hold onto this for you. I thought you would want it.”

Thenvunin glanced at her, and then carefully opened the box.

There was a bracelet inside. A very pretty thing, very delicate, with little opals set along a spiral cuff of white gold. At first he could only see it as a nice little piece of jewellery, lovely but not really  _important._  But then he picked it up, and something about the way it felt in his hand was like a flash of memory. He could recall his fingers pressing against these opals, thinking they were huge and mesmerizing, and for a second his heart stopped.

“It was your mother’s,” his step-mother explained.

Oh.

Thenvunin felt his eyes itch, and had to fend off the urge to cry again.

Something of his  _mother’s._

“Thank you,” he managed.

“Don’t tell your father you have it,” his step-mother advised. “He is… a  _pragmatic_  man, and he wouldn’t see the point in keeping something like that, when we could pawn it to help pay the bills. But some things are worth hanging onto, and since you decided to come home, I don’t think we’ll be stretched quite so thin.”

Thenvunin nodded absently, still absorbed in the necklace. Trying to capture that whisper-quick memory again, but the moment would not repeat itself. Still, there was something very precious about having the bracelet. Something not worth risking – his step-mother was right, he thought. It was his mother’s; it was his mother’s, and he wanted it to be his in turn. After a moment, his step-mother left to ‘give him some space’, and he tucked the bracelet back into the box. He unpacked his things, and stowed the box into his bedside table. Along with the two novels he owned, and then he put his clothes away. The room wasn’t big but it still seemed to offer more space than he needed.

He ran a hand over the worn cover of  _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone,_  and wondered if he could finally got to visit a library again. He’d missed libraries. And parks, and gardens. The facility had a yard, but there weren’t many plants in it, and after his first year there they’d taken out the pond, too. Sometimes there were bus trips to parks or museums, but he’d never been free to just… go places, before.

He’d be going to school again, too. That was a little nerve-wracking. Highschool always seemed like a daunting experience on television, and ‘new kids’ were, it seemed, expected to get the worst of it. But Thenvunin could do it, he thought. He could figure it out, he could make it work, so that he would never have to go back.

Although, as things went on, it became increasingly apparent that he’d underestimated how different things would be. His step-mother left for work early in the morning, taking the car – which Thenvunin didn’t begrudge her in the least, it wasn’t like he could drive, and she was  _pregnant._  He wasn’t even sure that she  _should_  be working, although she assured him that it was fine, they’d given her a stool to sit on at her register and she was going to take her maternity leave soon. His father was at home during the day, working on his furniture projects. Most of which ended up in the shed behind the house, as the man was ‘between clients’.

Thenvunin had to learn how to make his own breakfast and lunches. Cereal was easy, at least, and sandwiches weren’t too much trouble either, and so he mostly stuck with those. He went to school, and that was harder. There were a lot of students at his new highschool. The crowds were big enough to make him slightly dizzy, and the bells reminded him a lot of the ‘negative reinforcement therapy’ he’d gone through at the facility, and a lot of the classrooms didn’t have enough desks.

His first day he met Sethtaren, though. And Sethtaren offered to show him the ropes, even though he was older, and wasn’t in any of Thenvunin’s classes. He told Thenvunin about a lot of things, like that it was better to try and have lunch on the roof if he needed some space, and which teachers were better or worse at their jobs, and how to get his locker to actually  _open._  But something about Sethtaren also made Thenvunin think of some of the other kids who had been at the facility. And the assistants, too, and so when he asked Thenvunin if he’d like to go see a movie sometime, Thenvunin shook his head apologetically.

“I have to get home to help with some things, my step-mother’s pregnant and she’s still working,” he explained.

Sethtaren hadn’t liked that answer, much. But after a few minutes he shrugged it off, and that was mostly that.

It took three refusals before he started giving Thenvunin the cold shoulder, but by then, Thenvunin was pretty sure he’d learned how to survive the madness of highschool – at least, in a basic sort of way. When he got home he would do his homework… or try to. That part was harder, a lot of his assignments were difficult to follow in the noisy classrooms, and every conceivable work surface at home had been taken over by his father’s projects. Except for the kitchen counter, which was usually full of dirty dishes by the time Thenvunin’s bus dropped him off. His father was creative and working very hard to make the kind of masterpieces that people would, he said, pay thousands of dollars for, and he couldn’t be distracted by things like doing the dishes.

So Thenvunin would do them. Or sometimes his step-mother would, though she usually worked until pretty late. And usually she made dinner, because nobody really wanted to have sandwiches for dinner; his father would come out of his room to eat. Sometimes he would talk. More usually, though, the three of them would just sit there. Awkwardly. Thenvunin wondering if he was the elephant in the room, if he was making things uncomfortable.

He tried his best to get along with his step-mother, and really, it turned out to not be so difficult. She liked to sing while she washed the dishes, and after a while she started telling him stories about the more colourful customers who would come into the department store where she worked. She used to be a dancer before she married Thenvunin’s father, she admitted, and even with her belly getting bigger, sometimes she would shimmy around the kitchen or living room as they did things. When Thenvunin’s father would be hammering at a project, the dull  _thuds_  reverberating through the tiny house, his step-mother would try and turn it into music – humming or clapping in between, and it reminded Thenvunin of some of the more friendly caretakers who had worked with him.

When his father’s projects weren’t too loud to make it awkward, they’d often watch television together, too. Thenvunin liked fashion shows and celebrity gossip and nature documentaries, and his step-mother was, it happened, an avid fan of cooking shows and DIY channels, and ‘How It’s Made’ type shows. Sometimes they would flip between, and Thenvunin always marvelled at actually having control of the remote, and being able to  _pick_  what they watched.

“We never could at the facility,” he explained, one evening. “There were three televisions in the rec room, but only one had sound – the other two had subtitles. And residents didn’t get to pick the channels, although if you told the staff what you liked, sometimes they would put it on for you.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve heard you say about the place since you got here,” his step-mother mused. “I’m surprised you wanted to stay so long.”

Thenvunin blinked at her.

“What?” he asked.

“What?” she returned, her brows furrowing a little.

“…I didn’t want to stay,” he said, uncertain as to whether or not he’d misunderstood something, somewhere. “I asked to come home every week. I… why would I  _want_  to stay? I hated that place. I mean, I know they looked after me, and it cost Father a lot. And I don’t want to sound  _ungrateful_ , because they fixed me, but… but nobody else ever stayed there as long as I did. Either they got moved to permanent care facilities, or they went home after a year or two, at most. The doctors said I could have gotten home treatments, especially after the big surgery when I was twelve, but I would have been in the way here.”

His step-mother stared at him.

“What?” he asked, again. Had he said that wrong? His sense of unease continued, as she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t make heads or tails out of.

But at length, she managed an awkward smile.

“Right,” she said. “Right, that’s… I think, I think I’m going to go to bed, now. I’ll see you in the morning, Thenvunin.”

“Did I do something wrong?” he wondered.

“No,” she said, firmly. Making her way up out of the couch. She reached over and patted his hand. “You’re fine, sweetheart.

That reassured him, although for a few days after it seemed like a tension had settled over the little house and wouldn’t abate. It wore off eventually, though, and Thenvunin found that there was a lot about being out of the facility that agreed with him. He went to the library, and got a library card, and finally got to read more of the Harry Potter stories. His step-mother went on maternity leave, but without her paycheck that made finances extra tight. Thenvunin started looking for a part-time job, but it was a lot easier to do on television than in real life. Nobody wanted to hire a teenager for the weekend or after school shifts, it seemed, and the other solutions he tried to find all flopped. He started a Youtube channel, but he didn’t have a camera; so mostly the videos were just scrawling text and pictures of birds, and people could find that stuff on Wikipedia, if they wanted. He wanted to try selling some of his father’s furniture pieces on Etsy, but when he suggested it his father got very irate, and insisted that he was a  _high-calibre professional_  and that internet sales were for housewives and teenagers.

“Don’t worry about it,” his step-mother told him. “I’ll think of something. We’ll do fine, you just focus on school, okay?”

Thenvunin tried to. But he was a worrier, by nature. His family would probably have a lot more money if it weren’t for him, after all, and it only seemed right to try and help with things. His father was in a slump; his step-mother was pregnant. He was fifteen, and according to television, he should at least be able to get a job at, like, a carnival or something. He tried asking around with some of the friendlier people at his school, and finally one of the girls in his Home Ec class gave him a tip about a restaurant in the city’s alienage, a couple miles from where he lived, that hired teenagers. But the job was for delivery drivers, and Thenvunin didn’t have his license. Didn’t even know the first thing about driving.

He supposed he ought to learn, though. When he asked his father, his father told him to ask his step-mother, but she readily agreed to the prospect. Thenvunin felt incredibly nervous, trying to figure out how to drive the car with a pregnant person in the passenger seat, and every time he hit the pedals wrong and the vehicle  _lurched_  he felt like he was going to throw up. But it proved to be a good motivator, in a way, because it didn’t take him long at all to learn how to smooth out the process.

His step-mother teased him a bit, though.

“You drive like an old person,” she said. “You can go faster, you know, this car already has a few dings. I won’t get mad if you dent something.”

Thenvunin just thought of  _hitting something_  with his step-mother in the car, though, and felt faint at the very idea.

“I like going slow,” he insisted, lifting his chin resolutely, and continuing the crawl across the parking lot.

By the time he got his license, though, his step-mother was overdue, and in the end the first thing he used it for was driving her to the hospital. His father was at a meeting with some potential clients, the first he’d had since Thenvunin had come home. So Thenvunin’s step-mother called him and left a message on his phone, and she offered to drive but she was  _in labour,_  so Thenvunin did it, his grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel. And then there was the hospital, which reminded him of the facility, and it was all so terrifying and stressful and he ended up just running back and forth, getting ice chips and wondering where his father was and resisting the urge to flee the building.

But eventually his father turned up. Eventually his step-mother delivered a tiny, healthy baby girl into the world, and Thenvunin watched his father hold her for the first time. Counting fingers and toes, and marvelling at her.

“She’s perfect,” he said.

And something in Thenvunin – something ugly, really – twisted, because… this, he knew, was what his father wanted. What he had  _always_  wanted, what Thenvunin had never been. A beautiful, healthy child. He stared, and then he found himself going and talking to the doctor. Asking every question that occurred to him. Were her bones alright? Her muscles? Heart? Eyes? Ears? The doctor eventually waved him off at one of the nurses, who seemed to find his interrogation endearing, and answered most of his questions until he was satisfied. She was okay.

His sister was okay.

The stabbing envy he felt didn’t survive much past looking at her little face, either. Her wrinkly little pink face, and who knew newborns were so awkward-looking? The doctors took her before he got a chance to hold her, and his step-mother was understandably exhausted while the healers looked after her. Thenvunin expected his father to go with his new daughter, but he just shook his head.

“I have to make some calls,” he said, instead.

Thenvunin hesitated. But, he supposed, if things had gone really well with the potential clients, that could be very important to the baby’s well-being, too. So he squared his shoulders and went with her instead, figuring at least one of them could do that job. It wasn’t until he was watching a couple of nurses move her into a tiny crib lined with some softly glowing runes that he thought to wonder what they’d taken her  _for._  He snagged the nearest person in scrubs to ask.

“Magical testing,” the woman said, dismissively. “You can’t always tell this young, but some parents request it, just in case there are clear signs.”

Thenvunin blinked.

…Oh.

He turned and looked with renewed interest, but nothing much seemed to happen. After a few minutes the nurses plucked up his little sister again.  _Darellath._  That was her name; baby Darellath. And they brought her back to his step-mother’s room, to the little crib in there, and informed his father that the test had come back inconclusive; which was apparently true in about eighty percent of cases.

“Why did you want her tested anyway?” Thenvunin wondered. His mother had been a mage, he knew, but his father wasn’t. He hadn’t thought it was an issue in their family.

“I signed her up for every test they were willing to provide,” his father admitted. “Didn’t want any surprises.”

Thenvunin swallowed, and wondered if  _he_  had been a surprise.

An unpleasant one.

But he tried not to think about that. And fortunately his little sister as a good distraction. She looked very alone, in her tiny little crib, and when his father stepped out and while his step-mother was sleeping, Thenvunin carefully reached into the crib and picked her up. Careful to support her head and bottom, holding her just like the nurses had told his step-mother to. She squirmed a little, but didn’t open her eyes. Thenvunin could have been imagining it, but he thought she looked happier being held than being left in the little crib. When he was more confident of his grip, he freed one hand up to brush across her tiny fingers.

They were so  _small._

He was so busy marvelling at her, that he didn’t hear his father come back.

_“Thenvunin,”_  he hissed.

Darellath made a tiny noise, and Thenvunin looked up, guilt written across his face.

“I just wanted to hold her,” he said.

His father hurried over, and quickly took his sister from him.

“She’s much too small for that,” he insisted. “And you don’t know what you’re doing. You could drop her, or hold her wrong and hurt her.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said.

His father only frowned, though, unconvinced; and Thenvunin could only back away, guilty and uncertain.

“I wouldn’t hurt her,” he repeated, softly.

His father sighed.

“There’s no reason for you to still be here,” he said. “Go home. When the healers confirm your step-mother’s release, we’ll follow.”

Thenvunin swallowed.

“But… the car-“

“Take the bus,” his father insisted.

“It’s after midnight, the bus doesn’t run-“

“Then just stay out of the way!” the man finally snapped. “Maker’s breath, Thenvunin, can’t you give me a moment’s peace with my wife and my daughter? Can’t you just let me enjoy this? Go sit outside for a few minutes.”

Thenvunin froze, stung and alarmed, as his father turned and it seemed to him, with exquisite clarity, that the picture in the room formed a complete circle. His father, his step-mother, and his sister. A little family. A perfect, beautiful little family. His father had always been a strikingly handsome man, and his step-mother was tired but her own loveliness was still apparent; and Darellath might have looked like a wrinkled pink potato, but it was of a precious and adorable sort.

Thenvunin was an interloper, he realized. The annoying step-child, inserting himself in a fragile and sacred moment which wasn’t open to him.

He left.

Quietly.

The walk home was a lot longer than he was used to, and by the time he got back to the house he felt strained in more ways than one. There was no one there to see him or scold him, no one to know, and so for a few hours he let himself cry. Even though he was supposed to be happy – and he was! He  _was_  happy, he would  _never_  wish for his sister, for any little baby to be born anything other than completely healthy. But he was also afraid, now. Afraid that his father would get clients and the baby would take up space, and someday soon he would wake up and be told that it was a mistake, bringing him here. That this wasn’t his home, and he needed to go.

He moved the crib into his parents’ room, before he finally cried himself out, and fell asleep in his bed.

The next day looked a little better, though. His father and his step-mother brought Darellath home, and while they were very covetous of her at first, his step-mother let him hold her while she got the change table ready. And every so often after that, as well. Before long there were a lot of interrupted nights, and Thenvunin’s father had to take his work entirely out into the shed because the hammering disturbed the baby, and before long no one seemed to mind at all if Thenvunin was sometimes the one rocking her or changing her or putting her down for naps. Darellath’s ‘pink potato’ look didn’t last long, and was swiftly replaced with a cherubic little countenance that had a surprising amount of personality.

But the world didn’t stop just because there was one new little person in it.

Things didn’t work out with his father’s new clients. Thenvunin wasn’t sure why, but he heard the ensuing argument through the walls of his bedroom.

“Nadas-“

“If I sell my furniture for less, it devalues my brand!”

“You don’t  _have_  a brand anymore. Face it, you are not trendy anymore! And that’s alright! But if I’m going back to work, then you need to look after Darellath during the day.”

“If I stop now I will lose my steam, I will lose any chance of getting my career back on track.”

“You said that if this client didn’t come through, you would-“

“I know what I said but if I can just-”

“For pity’s sake, Nadas, I’m not asking you to put together a resume, I’m not asking you to give up your craft. But it’s not paying the bills anymore. If I have to go back to working two jobs then I don’t have time to look after the baby, and we can’t afford to hire someone-“

“What about Thenvunin?”

“What do you mean? Thenvunin has school, he can’t look after the baby.”

“When I was his age, I was already working part-time…”

“He’s been  _looking_  for a job, Nadas. Didn’t he tell you? He’s been looking since he moved in, practically.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’s  _what_  supposed to mean?”

“That tone. Say what you will, but you think I should be looking for a nine-to-five, don’t you?”

“Who would hire you?”

“ _What?_  What does  _that_  mean?”

“Nothing. Nevermind.”

A deep sigh, and Thenvunin checked on where his sister was napping – the crib got moved around a lot, as it happened, sometimes in his room, sometimes in theirs; but she was quiet and undisturbed.

“Look,” he heard his step-mother say. “I’ll go back to dancing-”

“You will not!” his father protested.

“It’s better money! Melarue has a club in-“

“ _Melarue?_  You – you want to go dance for  _Melarue?_  Melarue, who tried to take my son away from me, who sullied my reputation, that pit viper of a whore who will just  _leap_  at the chance to use this against me?”

“Would you rather I went to dance for the Evanuris? Because their clubs are shitholes, and I’m not doing the ‘extras’ that they’ll expect from me there. But if I go back to dancing, I won’t have to take two jobs-”

“You’re  _not_  going back to dancing!” his father snapped, louder. Darellath made a tiny noise, and Thenvunin moved away from the wall. Turning on her little mobile with the flowers on it, that let off a soft, tinkling music to drown out the rest of the ebb and flow of that conversation.

He frowned as he turned over the conversation in his mind. Dancing didn’t seem like a more stable career than something in retail, or his father’s furniture business. But dancing in a club… for good money… over something that his father  _strenuously_ objected to…

Thenvunin coloured as the realization dawned.

Oh.

He looked down at little Darellath, who was settling again. And guilt swept over him, once more, because her mother absolutely should not have to do something like  _that_ just to help make ends meet. He waited until the sounds of arguing had dropped off again, and then knocked and the door and said that he was going to the library. His step-mother asked him to pick up some more wipes on his way back, which he agreed to, and then he proceeded to drive down to the little take-away place with its Help Wanted sign no longer in the window, and beg for a job.

The owner consented to take his resume, at least. Thenvunin admitted that there wasn’t much on it, and after frowning at him for a moment, the elderly elf sighed and told him he might know someone who knew someone who could get him some work. A few days later, Thenvunin got a call with a delivery job.

It was pretty simple. Pick up a package from another restaurant in town – one he hadn’t heard of, but that wasn’t unusual – and then take it up to one of the fancy neighbourhoods, well outside of the alienage. No questions, and no tampering with the package. That seemed reasonable to him, mail was supposed to be a private thing, wasn’t it? He picked up the delivery and dropped it off, and got paid in an amount that just barely beat out the price of gas. But it was  _something._

And Thenvunin supposed that maybe, if he was quick and courteous and did a good job, he’d get  _more_  jobs.

He was right.

After four more jobs, Thenvunin told his father that he’d found work around town doing deliveries. He was proud. He had money, enough to buy diapers and baby powder and maybe a onesie or two, and if it kept going then maybe it would be enough to afford daycare when his step-mother went back to work. Then his father could keep on with his crafting, and Thenvunin could go to school, and maybe if things went  _even better_ then his step-mother could take some time to look after Darellath instead. Or find a better job. Or something.

But his father turned ashen at his claims.

“Who?” he asked. “What do you think you’re doing, Thenvunin? Who are you making ‘deliveries’ for?”

Thenvunin wilted, not sure how to take that reaction.

“I… I’m not… sure?” he admitted, only just realizing it for the first time. “I went to that Orlesian bistro, someone at school said they hire teenagers for delivery work, sometimes. And they didn’t have an opening, but the owner agreed to give my name to some other people looking for delivery work. They just… they text me when I have a package to deliver, and then I get paid by whoever’s there.”

His father’s disquiet did not abate.

“And you don’t even know who you’re working for? What you’re delivering? In  _my_  car?” he demanded.

Thenvunin shook his head, and about that moment his step-mother appeared, carrying Darellath.

“I didn’t think it mattered so much. It’s just deliveries…” he said.

His father stared at him for a long moment.

“Nadas?” his step-mother asked.

“You are not to do this work  _anymore,”_  his father declared. “The next time someone tries to get you to deliver something, you say your license got revoked.”

“Why?” Thenvunin wondered, honestly baffled. Hadn’t he done well? What was he missing? But his father’s countenance was downright icy, and he couldn’t get any more of a question out in the face of it. It made him quail; made him almost panic, in fact, thinking that he would be sent away again. He didn’t want to go back. He  _couldn’t._

His father shook his head.

“You’ll get killed,” he said. “And you’ll ruin us before you do.”

Thenvunin stared at the floor, confused and frightened, as his vision gradually blurred. His father turned after a few minutes, and walked away. His shoulders shook, as he swallowed a few times, trying to figure out how to breathe without crying. After a few moments more he felt something brush his shoulder, and he flinched and looked up to see his step-mother looking at him. A few rebellious tears tracked down his cheeks.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked, plaintively.

She was quiet for a moment, just gently swaying his little sister. Darellath blinking and peering curiously at him.

“Come on,” his step-mother said, at length. “Let’s go sit on the porch.”

Thenvunin swallowed, not really eager to be outside. But it was probably better than being  _inside,_  with the pervasive atmosphere of his father’s disappointment. His step-mother bundled Darellath up a little more firmly in her blanket, and held her close as they came out into the cooler evening air. Thenvunin’s tears dried on his cheeks, and they made their way over to the handmade bench by the kitchen window. His father’s design. Very comfortable, if a little dated.

His step-mother sat with him, and then let out a long sigh.

“When your mother died,” she began, and that did little to help Thenvunin’s despair. “One of her friends wanted to claim custody of you. To hear your father tell it they were obsessed with your mother, and to be honest, I didn’t know them well enough to make up my own mind about it. But your father sometimes has… selective memory, when it comes to your mother. Anyway.” She let out another sigh. “Some people who didn’t like this friend of your mother’s, they made a deal with your father to help him keep you. These people were… have you ever seen The Godfather?”

Thenvunin blinked.

“…They were mobsters?” he asked.

His step-mother tilted her head in such a way that it was clear she couldn’t say they  _weren’t_  mobsters.

“My father made a deal with criminals to keep me?” he asked again, the whole picture just not making any sense. “Why would someone else want me? Why – if he wanted to keep me, why did he send me away?” That just didn’t fit.

His step-mother looked at him a little helplessly, and shrugged.

“I think he probably thought that was what was best for you? You’d have to ask him. And I wouldn’t recommend trying it tonight. But, the point is, the reason he’s so alarmed about all of this is that it looks shady. He’s worried. If you’re working for a criminal group that’s competition for the Evanuris family, they could get offended. They could think he was doing it on purpose. One of the reasons I stopped dancing was because of… um. Related, issues,” she trailed off, as if suddenly realizing what she’d implied about her ‘dancing’. Thenvunin cleared his throat, and decided to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

“And he’s still worried about it?” he asked, instead.

His step-mother shrugged.

“Well. He says he paid off his debts to them, but I’m not always sure… anyway. I know you were trying to help, and your father might have gotten frightened about the implications, but I really do appreciate it. You don’t have to worry, though. We’ll sort things out. You help enough as it is, you’ve got your own future to focus on. And being a good big brother, too.”

So saying, she shifted Darellath into his lap. Thenvunin couldn’t help but turn into mush as his little sister blinked up at him, and then started drooling on his shirt.

Being a good big brother…

But what kind of brother was he, if he had put everyone in danger just by being too sheltered and foolish to know any better?

For several minutes he sat with his step-mother and sister, trying not to cry again. Until the light started to get sincerely dark, and then they went back into the house. His step-mother took Darellath back so she could feed her, and Thenvunin offered to make dinner. He was just getting into the swing of his sandwich routine when there was a knock at the door.

“Nadas, get the door!” his step-mother called. But after a few moments went by, and his father didn’t answer, Thenvunin supposed he was in the bathroom. Wiping some mustard off his fingers, he headed for the front door himself, and opened just after the second knock came through.

The woman standing on the other side of the door was elven. Older. Probably a little older than his father, though in that way that didn’t really  _show_ , unless you knew what to look for. She was dressed in a neat suit, with an emerald green jacket, and her long platinum hair twisted into an elegant bun. She looked very out-of-place on their doorstep, and Thenvunin’s first thought was that one of his father’s oft-spoken-of highbrow clients had come to see him, and that the house probably wasn’t nearly orderly enough for visitors.

The woman, for her part, swept his gaze critically over him. And then got to his face, and smiled.

“Thenvunin, I assume?” she asked. “You look very much like your father.”

Thenvunin shifted a little, and then glanced back into the house. His step-mother was frozen in her seat, Darellath still enjoying her dinner.

“I think it’s for Papae,” he said.

“Oh no,” the woman on the doorstep told him. “No, your father isn’t really who I’m interested in, right now. I’m here for you. But where are my manners?”

As Thenvunin turned back to her in bewilderment, the woman inclined her head in the barest hint of a polite bow.

“I am Mythal Evanuris,” she said.

Evanuris…?

Thenvunin felt a cold dread pool in the bottom of his stomach.

“You’re… just here for me?” he asked. His right hand twitching a little, as he wondered if he was going to get killed, now. Would someone like an Evanuris mobster do that kind of thing in person? Maybe if he explained…? But at least, if it was just him who had made trouble… if that was it, then, he could get her away from Darellath. His sister was just a baby, after all.

Mythal nodded.

“Just you,” she said. “I didn’t even realize you were working for my company until recently. It’s quite fortuitous; the timing couldn’t be better. Old acquaintances coming together, in a sense. I did some favours for your father, way back when. And you, well… you seem like the kind of versatile young man my company is always interested in sponsoring. But, that’s not a conversation for doorsteps. Why don’t you come with me? I have a club downtown, a very nice place. Perfectly well-suited to a young person of your age. You’re wasted on delivery work, I suspect.”

“Mythal-“ his step-mother said, and Mythal glanced inside, as Thenvunin heard her come up behind him. He felt at once grateful and worried. She still had Darellath, and her top was off, and it all felt terribly vulnerable and he was afraid. Afraid because Mythal wasn’t even saying anything expected; and that probably meant that he still didn’t know what was going on, really.

Mythal’s smile turned on his step-mother, and then zeroed in on Darellath.

“Oh,” she said. “What a little treasure. Congratulations, Virin, you must be so proud.”

“I…I am,” his step-mother agreed. “And I don’t want to be rude, Mythal, but it’s late. Thenvunin has school tomorrow.”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Mythal replied, in a way that turned Thenvunin’s bones to ice. “No. I’d invite you along, Virin, but I’m afraid the club environment isn’t good for babies. Lots of loud music. Nadas could come, I suppose, but he doesn’t seem to be around. Alas.”

She turned towards Thenvunin, and there was just something about her. About how assured she was, how certain that she would be leaving there with him. It made him certain, too. He looked at his sister, and he wondered if this was like how it was in movies. Where the criminals threaten someone’s family, to get them to comply. Was that why she complimented the baby? Or did she just like babies?

Either answer seemed equally plausible.

“Come along, my dear,” she said. “We have opportunities to discuss. I think you’ll be very interested in them. If you’re smart, you could stand to do a lot of good for your family.”

Thenvunin drew in a breath, and spared one last glance for the house around him. Almost hoping his father would come, and… fix things, somehow. But the halls were silent, and his step-mother looked anxious and uncertain, and Darellath looked unhappy at having her meal interrupted. She made a protesting noise. Mythal tutted, and reached over, and patted her cheek…

And Thenvunin thought, if there was only one thing he could do, it was try to be a good big brother.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Wonderful!” Mythal declared.


	11. Fuckin' Evanuris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for alcohol use, violence, blood, food, and guns

“You’re really planning on painting the building Sepia?  _Really_?”

“Sepia s'a good, striking color.”

“Uh-huh. And the rounded pyramid on top doesn’t… _remind_  you of anything?”

“Y'know, I think-I think you’re just obsessed with my penis at this point, Selene.”

“Well, you keep making so many monuments to it, how am I supposed to focus on anything else?” She teases while she and June each take another shot. She almost feels bad at this point, given that she can’t actually  _get_  drunk anymore and he’s already slurring.

 

June stands up from the table with his blueprints, or tries to, but it seems his sense of balance is giving out already. Selene shoots up to catch him in time so his head doesn’t make contact with the table or floor, and carefully slings his head over one of her shoulders.

“Alright pal, I’m cutting you off.”

“S'my alcohol. I-I’ll-I'mcut  _you_  off.”

“Ok, sure,” Selene assures him “You cut me off. Time for bed I think.”

 

“You’re warm,” he notes, shifting slightly closer to her and she scoops one arm under his legs before he can fall again.

“I get that a lot,” she smirks.

“Sylaise s'warm too. S'nice. She’s so pretty, y'know?”

“Mm-hm,” Selene agrees, carrying him carefully up the stairs while searching for the bedroom.

 

“Like-like she’s  _so_  pretty though. She tries like-she tries hard but even like-even in the mornings she’s just so pretty and warm. I love her a lot. I think I’m gonna-I’m gonna marry her.”

“I have good news for you then, because I’m pretty sure you’re already married to her.”

“That’s so-that’s so  _good!”_  June grins while Selene lays him down on the bed. It seems pretty big, and there’s dressers so it’s a good shot that this room can at least serve as his bed for the night.

 

“Where’s your phone, June?”

“S'my pocket.”

“Can you get it for me?”

June nods, practically shoving his pants off one side of his hip as he grabs it out and hands it to Selene, who dutifully plugs it in for him.

 

“Ok, I’m gonna head home. You need me to call anyone to check on you later?”

“Naaah, Sylaise-she’s got a plane comin’ in th'mornin'”

“Ok, great. I’ll see you later then, June.”

“Wait! You can’t-you can’t drive. You drank.”

“ _You_  drove us here, June. I’ll take a bus.”

“Y'can’t-you can’t jus’ take the bus drunk. People suck too much.”

Selene snorts. “Weirdly chivalrous of you, but I’ll be fine, really.”

“Nooooo!” he groans, and Selene’s reminded of nothing so much as a young child complaining because they aren’t getting their way.

“Ok, fine,” She amends. “Would you feel better if I stayed in one of your guest rooms then?”

June pouts, and looks up at her with suddenly wet eyes “You’re warm,” He sniffles, as she realizes what he wants.

 

She takes a quick read of him and the room, ensuring she has an escape route if she needs one, and that he isn’t planning anything untoward. But as far as she and Des can tell he just  _really_  misses his wife.

“If you start groping me or taking your clothes off, I’m out. Got it?”

June nods, and shifts over a bit on the bed.

Selene sighs and crawls into the bed next to him. It doesn’t take him long at all to fall asleep once he’s scooted his way into her arms, and she stares awkwardly at the ceiling while he snoozes softly.

–

Morning comes, and Selene realizes she must have actually fallen asleep when she hears the sound of a camera phone going off. Her eyes snap open as she sits up, only to find Sylaise smiling at her.

“Sorry, you two were just so cute, I had to get a shot for my private collection.”

 

“Just…don’t go sharing that around,” Selene requests. Sylaise nods and clicks her phone closed while June groans from his spot in the bed.

“He’s gonna need some water,” Selene informs her, getting out of the bed and stretching her arms. “What time is it?”

 

“Just before noon. We could grab some lunch if you’d like, perhaps? June usually needs to eat after he drinks.”

“Rain check,” Selene yawns “I have to go get ready for work.”

“Can I call you a car then?”

“That’s alright, I could use the exercise,” Selene evades. “Good to see you, Sylaise.”

“You too, Selene. Shall I give your regards to my brother?” she hints.

Selene just shrugs and waves as she makes her way down the stairs and out the door as quickly as she can, stopping only to slip her shoes back on.

 

Melarue’s gonna be _mad_.

–

  
It turns out that Ana is the one in a panic when she finally gets back to the apartment, though.

 

“Selene!” She calls, arms wrapping around her “Where were you?”

“I was at Junes and Sylaise’s place and I lost track of time. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

 

Ana just lets out a breath of relief, before switching into work mode “It’s all right. Go get ready for work, Melarue wants you on center tonight.”

“Alright, alright.” Selene laughs, shedding her layers as she makes her way into the shower.

 

Selene changes into one of her work lingerie sets after her shower, a vivid blue piece with her signature black lace over it to match the informal ‘mask’ she wears on stage. She slips a loose black shirt and jeans on over them, and makes her way into the kitchen for a snack, still toweling off her hair.

 

As she bites into a granny smith apple, her eyes land on the still sealed envelope sitting on the breakfast bar. The one Dirthamen sent her.

She sighs, and move towards it, Des riling excitedly in her head as she places the apple down and twirls the envelope in her fingers.

With a mental groan, because she knows he probably didn’t mean it and  _probably_  didn’t deserve to be thrown out quite as roughly as he had been, She carefully pries the paper out of the envelope, and begins to read.

 

_Dear Selene,_

_I would like to begin by apologizing. I should have realized that my gift was ill-considered. It was not my intention to remind you of what was clearly a negative experience of yours. My thoughts on the matter were tainted by my own interactions at that time, and the privileges I was living with. I fully respect your right to remove me from your life after I made such an egregious error. Please know that if you wish to have no further contact, I will not burden you with my presence again. You are under no obligation to accept my apology, and if you do not wish to so much as continue reading this letter, I will understand._

_It is my hope that you enjoyed the time that we had together. I loved you very much, and as the days pass I find myself still continuing to do so. I hope that you will forgive me for burdening you with that knowledge, but I do not wish to keep yet more secrets from you. I would like to apologize in whatever manner you deem sufficient. But if that door is closed, I understand. I will respect your wishes, with regards to how things should proceed. If there is anything I can do to ease your fears or concerns, please do not hesitate to inform me of what it is._

_Yours,_

_Dirthamen Sairal Evanuris_

 

 

Selene rubs her hand down her face, and reads over the letter again. And again. And again.

_Should_  she call him, maybe?

 

_’ **YES.** ’_ Des insists.

 

Ana comes out of her own room then, however, bag slung over her shoulder as she looks at Selene expectantly.

“Ready to head to work?”

Selene hesitates, but nods.

She can always call Dirthamen in the morning, after all.

–

 

Work is steady that night. Customers coming and going regularly, and the tips are good. Selene is about halfway through her routine when she sees a flash of familiar grey hair moving quickly past the oversized lounge couches adorning the walls, and heading in the direction of Melarues office.

She panics, for a moment, but ultimately decides that Melarue can handle themselves. Probably.

She makes eye contact with Victory, who’s patrolling the club as usual and tilts her head quickly towards their bosses office. He nods, and follows in the same direction the grey haired elf had disappeared to.

 

Selenes set finishes, and she makes her way quickly to the back, downing a glass of water while her nerves still feel on edge.

What would she even be  _doing_  in a place like this…?

 

But just like that it’s time for her to make her rounds, and she wanders through the club, keeping one eye over her shoulder and Des on high alert as she giggles and flirts her way through the regulars, avoiding any unfamiliar faces in lieu of clients she already knows are safe to take to the back rooms.

 

As the club closes for the night, and Selene helps flip the bar stools over, she still hasn’t seen any indication that Mythal may have wandered in. Perhaps she just imagined it, or mistook someone else for her? That must be it, she decides. The influence of reading Dirthamens letter before work, combined with waking up at June and Sylaise’s is making her see things.

 

“Do you need any help with the inventory?” Selene offers, but Ana just shakes her head.

“No, Cherry and I got it, thanks,” she smiles.

Selene nods “I’m gonna go get some fresh air then. Meet you at the bus stop?”

 

Ana hums a yes as she refills the stirrers container, and Selene slips off to grab her bag from the back.

It’s colder at night, and the wind is blowing loudly enough that she almost doesn’t hear him while she pulls her coat tighter around her.

Almost.

 

But she turns in time enough to spot the flash of the streetlight bouncing off his blonde hair and grimaces when she realizes just who has discovered her place of work.

 

“You fucking bitch,” Falon'din spits.

“Right back at you. What are you doing here asshole?”

“You fucking fucked my brother!”

Selene rolls her eyes “Yeah, sorry to have to be the one to tell you this but your brother is a grown man, and he enjoyed it. Often, and thoroughly. You need to leave.”

“You’re a damn whore!”

“I’m not a whore. I’m a stripper with a very strict no-touching clause in her contract and the power and authority to enforce it.”

“I know what a fucking-”

“Well, you seemed confused. As usual.” Selene interrupts. She can feel Des rising up inside her, trying to push his way forward at the threat of being alone with Falon'din in a dimly lit alley in the middle of the night “You should go before you get hurt.”

 

He blasts a shot of blackened ice towards her that she has to move quickly to evade. She tsks, and feels the flames licking beneath her skin.

“Seriously. This is the wrong place to do this unless you’re looking to die.”

 

“Are you really stupid enough to threaten me right now? Do you know what you did to my fucking brother? I’ll kill you, you stupid bitch!”

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” She taunts, her voice gaining a slight echo as her head starts to throb.

“Like I’d want to fuck a whore like you!” he yells, shooting off a barrage of ice shards towards her that they easily evaporate with a simple barrier.

 

“You idiot,” they mutter, stepping towards him and leaving a trail of ash beneath their feet “You’re so self absorbed you can barely see what you actually give a rats ass about anymore,” But she can see it, now. The blood on his hands, staining them, staining  _him._ Blood of innocents, of people who didn’t deserve it and people he just thought were beneath him and wanted to hurt for  _fun_. Blood of his own brother caked beneath his fingernails. It makes her own boil as she closes the distance between them, focused too closely on the elf in front of her.  

“I’d call it a shame that I have to kill you, but the world will be better off for it,” She says, and her words bounce off the stone walls as her claws reach for his throat.

 

There is a loud, echoing  _ **Bang**_ , and she suddenly feels very cold.

Too cold.

She’s not supposed to be  _cold._

 

But her claws don’t retract, and she closes them tightly around his throat and lets the fire burst through her. Relishes the scream he emits, even as it drowns out the loud clang of the door smashing open behind her as Victory barrels through it. He’s yelling…something. A name. Her name?

“…lene!” she makes out.  
Ah. Her name, then, yes.

 

But she watches the man beneath her burn, watches his flesh sear and thinks back to Tevinter, to when this all started, and feels a sickening amount of relief at the pain she sees on his face. No more. No more, he can’t hurt Dirthamen anymore, she won’t allow it. Never again. ’ _Never again’_  they repeat in sync, even as Victory pries them away from Falon'dins body.

“Selene!” He yells, cutting through the fog, and she looks up in time to see him staring at her stomach. Serahlin is behind him, on her cell phone. Giving someone their address. An emergency service, it sounds like?

And no,  **No** , let him die, let him  _rot_  here, don’t call someone to help, just help her get rid of the remains, you’re supposed to be her  _friend-_ And then her vision is nothing but hair. Red hair, and she is nine years old again as Ana, sweet Ana fills her vision. 

But she’s crying. 

Why is she crying?

 

Selene reaches out to wipe at her face, tries to ask what’s wrong before she registers a pain in her stomach, and looks down.

Her shirt is wet. 

Very, very wet, and the ground is red, now.

 

_Oh_ , she and Des realize as everything goes black.  _He shot us._


	12. Daughters

Of all the people they expected to walk into their club, it is not Mythal. Not after everything that’s happened between them. Not after the barely veiled threats–and the not so veiled ones–and the fact that the club is in the midst of Carta controlled territory for this very reason.

And yet…

The door to their office opens, and Anaris gives a hiss. Melarue doesn’t need to look to know who it is, as their grip tightens on the wine glass in their hand; Deceit had noticed it the moment she’d walked inside. 

Victory and Uthvir must have been quite busy, to let Mythal Evanuris slip into the club and up into Melarue’s office.

The door closes, and they continue looking over the invoice on their computer screen. They don’t want to look her in the face, because they fear what seeing it might cause them to do. Old resentment and hurt flares in their chest, and works its way up until it catches in their throat and sticks.

“Are you going to offer me a seat?”

Ah, there it is. That same imperious tone, a slight raspiness to its edges—from age, or the cold?—and Melarue finally looks up.

She’s old.

It’s…almost shocking, to see that Mythal has aged. They’d forgotten, for some reason, that Mythal is not like them. She’s still beautiful, of course. Golden-eyed and shrewd, sharp cheekbones and pointed chin; elegant and dangerous. The years, though visible, have been good to her, it seems. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of Mythal Evanuris visiting my humble workplace?” Melarue drawls, leaning back in their seat and nodding at the chair across their desk. Deceit settles just below their skin, waiting and watchful.

Mythal’s smile is cool as she takes the offered seat primly. “I truly hadn’t expected to find you here, or for you to stay, after I made it clear that you weren’t welcome.”

Only Mythal would walk into Carta territory and demand such a thing from them. As if she had a right to it. As if Melarue had not come to this city first, and clawed their way to their current position through sheer willpower and cunning, only to have the Evanuris appear–and for Mythal to have the audacity to demand their removal. 

Melarue snorts. “I guess it is a good thing the world does not revolve around you.” Deceit drifts back and forth, and Melarue calculates how many phone calls she needs to make the moment Mythal walks out of here…to ensure that this never happens again. Grandmother Cadash won’t actively change anything, but her granddaughter Maibrit likely would. “You are the one who moved here from Arlathan to expand your family business. It seems more like you have followed me.”

Mythal’s smile stretches a bit, which does nothing to ease the feral look it gives her. “Speaking of the family business, I suppose you know that my son has been…entertaining himself with one of your dancers.”

Entertaining himself…as if Selene’s affections were a passing fancy to him.  _The Evanuris have always enjoyed their playthings, haven’t they? No one else was ever quite good enough to be more than that._

It is difficult for Deceit to glean just what Dirthamen’s intentions were, from Mythal herself. Regardless of his feelings, Mythal’s own belief is that it was not serious–no. Oh, there it is. Not that it wasn’t serious, but that Mythal hopes it will not be. The pleasure in knowing something has ruined that tie before it could strengthen.

Dirthamen may have been serious then. Not that it changes who he is. Melarue had not asked Selene, about the breakup, but had known about it. They hope that Selene continues to listen to her common sense, and not let Des push her toward something because of some base urge that will get her killed.

They have let Mythal’s family take too many loved ones from them. Selene is under their protection–has been since the moment she stepped into Melarue’s club. 

They will not let Mythal take another.

“Is that what you have come to discuss? My workers have their own private lives, and whoever Selene sees is her choice, regardless of how I feel about your family.” They give their own wry smile, “So much concern for your son. Your maternal instincts are quite astounding. I am utterly impressed.”

Mythal lifts a hand in a dismissive wave. “Oh, that is not what I am here to discuss, though I did wish to do you the courtesy of informing you. It is of little importance  _now_ , as the relationship has properly ended. Your dancer has more sense than my son, it seems.”

“That she does,” Melarue agrees. They hope that sense continues. 

Mythal glances around the office, eyes landing on Anaris, who twitches his tale and stares, before returning to Melarue. “You’ve done well for yourself, despite it all. I suppose that your prior experience helped.”

Prior experience. Of course. 

“Indeed,” Melarue taps a finger against their glass, and it echoes in the silent room. “What did you come here for, if it was not to pretend to be a decent mother?”

“How is Morrigan?”

The glass in their hand shatters.

Wine and blood drip down their palm, but they barely notice, as Deceit hisses at them to remain calm. Ah, so she  _is_  here to pretend to be a decent mother then.  _I will kill her if she tries to hurt Morrigan._

_**She is not here to harm her. She is here to get information. Calm yourself.** _

Calm, yes. it is easier said than done, as they unclench their hand and let the last few shards fall atop the desk. “Do not go looking for her,” Melarue bites out. “Do not even think about it.”

“She doesn’t live in the city then,” Mythal concludes.

_You will not find her. I have made certain of it._

Melarue laughs, a harsh, barking sound. “I’ve kept her far, far away from this place and you will anger more people than myself if you try to root her out. Morrigan is my daughter, Mythal. She’s been mine since the moment you shoved that baby into my arms and told me to ‘get rid of her’.”

_Why do you want her? Have you looked at your own children and found a nest of vipers of your own making, and now fear what might become of yourself and your empire? Do you think that you can take her, and somehow make her yours? A convenient scapegoat?_

“Oh I am not here to evaluate the love you have for her. You always grew attached to children so easily. Like that other boy…Aelynthi, was it? A tragedy, what happened to his parents.”

“A tragedy indeed,” Melarue murmurs, “If your business is concluded, I would suggest you leave before I call security.” Their hand burns, but they don’t let Deceit heal the wound, not yet. Not while Mythal is watching.

“And the street urchin as well. Elanna? Poor thing. You’re truly a saint.” She pauses, “There was another one, wasn’t there? But you couldn’t quite manage to get him home. Mirena’s son? You needn’t worry. He has been quite an asset to me. He is well looked after.”

“I know how your family looks after people,” Melarue throws out, as they slowly begin pulling out slivers of glass from their hand. “Why did you aid that fool Nadas? What did you gain from taking in Thenvunin, other than to even some imaginary score between us? I did not expect you to be so petty.”

“Now, now, business is business.” Mythal interjects pleasantly. “It had nothing to do with him being Mirena’s son.”

“You always were jealous of her. It is a shame, you were never quite as good a dancer.” Melarue responds, before tying a handkerchief tightly around their wounds. They think about the look in Nadas’ eye, when they’d paid him a visit after hearing the news. Before they’d handed his wife an envelope filled with cash and told her and her daughter to leave while they  _talked,_ and the grim satisfaction afterwards. “Know this, Mythal, if you harm any of them, I will end you, regardless of our past or any connections we may have. Fully and utterly.”

Mythal laughs, “That is the Melarue I remember. But how to you plan to do that, I wonder?”

Melarue gestures around them, “As you said, I have done quite well for myself, creating all this from nothing. Just imagine what other things I must be capable of.”

Mythal stands, “I can imagine them quite well. I will get the information I need elsewhere. Pay my regards to your family.”

They stand as well. They will need to call Morrigan, and make certain she and Kieran are well and far away for an indefinite period of time. It won’t be difficult, with Morrigan’s work, but they will have to cancel their plane ticket for their next visit now, in case Mythal has them followed.

They’ll need to ask the Carta, then, for transportation through the Underground. The Evanuris have no way of tracking their movements that way, at least. 

Mythal pauses in the doorway, and glances back at them. “I always wondered why you allowed yourself to be my father’s plaything for so long. Did you think he would give you something? Hoping that you’d give him a child to contend with my position? Surely you didn’t  _love_  him?”

Melarue is silent for a very long time, as their ears ring and Deceit coils inside of them like a venomous snake.

“…I think you and your father are very well matched.”

And that is when the gunshot rings out through the open doorway, and the screaming begins


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maibrit confronts Dirthamen after Selene's injury, and Maibrit's tragic backstory is revealed. Small drabble (1) by circadian-rythm, rest of story that follows (2) by feynites.

**1.** “As you can see, the protection of the Evanuris isn’t needed. Besides, isn’t it  _your_  family she needs protection from? Or did she just fall into the snow conveniently onto some bullets and your brother?” Maibrit asks with a mocking grin. “The Cadash family will take it from here.”

Her expression changes then, and she sighs a bit, rubbing the back of her neck. “We can talk casually, right? One crime family heir to another—well, I guess you’re not technically the heir, right? You have to wait for Smokey McBurn-Face to actually kick it before the title goes to you. Good luck on that.” 

A pause. “I’d feel bad about calling him that except he deserves it. Whether he’s your brother or not, he’s a Grade A asswipe. So glare at me all you want, but let me give you a piece of advice someone should’ve given you a long time ago. Family doesn’t mean shit. People want you to believe that bond means everything. That somehow sharing some genes means you gotta bend over backwards for ‘em and suck it up for the family’s sake. That’s bullshit. And the sooner you get that through your head, the sooner you can figure out where you’re going from here on out, and the sooner you can decide if you’re going to protect your family, or protect her.”

Maibrit jerks her chin a bit, glancing at the hospital door to her right. “Because they want her dead. They’ll keep wanting her dead until you’re on top, and you get to make the rules, and they’ll still want her dead then but you’ll at least be able to protect her properly. Running away won’t do anything—been there, tried that, and all I got for trying to leave was my girlfriend in a bodybag. I like you, more than the rest of your batshit family, so that’s why I’m telling you this, got it? And until you decide who you’re going to protect this time around, you get to stay on this side of that door. So think long and hard, and go have a talk with Old Mel, because they’re waiting on the roof for you and if I keep you any longer they’ll skin me alive.”

 

\---

**2.**

The first time Lela meets Maibrit, Maibrit juggles her eye, and Lela accidentally touches her hair and musters up a bolt of static electricity so big that it fries one of the lights in the dinky little restaurant down on fifth. They get chased out, or, well,  _Lela_  gets chased out, but Maibrit decides to go with her and they end up getting cup noodles out of a food truck down the road, eating and making bad jokes until Lela’s late for work.

As first meetings go, it definitely makes an impression. And Lela freaks out when she realizes that she forgot to get Maibrit’s number, until she finds the scrap of paper tucked into her coat pocket, with a shiny little ruby sketched in one corner and ‘call me!’ scribbled over the number.

It takes her a couple of days to work up the nerve. But she does.

Maibrit is smart and funny. Maibrit is  _kind,_  and  _beautiful,_  and she takes Lela to science exhibits and fancy restaurants and old-fashioned drive-in movie theatres, always paying because apparently Lela lives in a ‘postage stamp’, and Maibrit’s family is rich or something.  _From Orzammar,_  she says, in a way that makes her seem like she’s kind of nervous about it. It’s not until they’ve been together for a couple months that the whole story comes out – dwarven crime families and the carta and smugglers and underground empires made out of illicit lyrium deals, among other things.

“I don’t want to inherit a criminal empire,” Maibrit says, fiddling with the lid of her coffee cup. “I just want to become a world renowned rocket scientist, go to the moon, and develop the kind of technology that will let us live among the stars so that I can start a colony of space lesbians.”

Lela’s pretty sure that’s when she realizes she’s in love.

“Cool,” she is what she says, with her cheeks a little flushed, and her stomach full of butterflies.

Maibrit grins at her.

“C’mere,” she asks. “I wanna kiss you.”

Lela leans down, for coffee-flavoured kisses that feel as warm as the little spark’s in Maibrit’s eye.

It’s another month before Lela asks Maibrit to move in with her. Her ‘postage stamp’ might not be much, but the rent’s cheap, and Lela could probably afford to feed them both until Maibrit found a job. And then they could save up, she thinks, and Maibrit could go to university and become a rocket scientist, and when they were earning that ‘sweet space science money’, as Maibrit put it, maybe then Lela could open up her own grocery store. Or go to school and learn how to grow crops in space, for their lesbian space colony.

That would be cool, she thinks. If she could figure out how to grow food in space then she could probably figure out how to do it  _anywhere._

But Maibrit doesn’t think it’s a good idea to move into her apartment.

“Too many people could find it,” she says. “I’ve been discreet, but… well, people know where I generally go around here, anyway. They could figure it out, if they wanted to track me down. And it could be dangerous.”

Lela sobers a little, thinking of back alleys and brands, and the kind of people who work for organized crime. The kind of people who  _buy_  the lyrium that Maibrit’s family smuggles.

“Maybe we should run away together, then,” she suggests. “One of my co-workers has been trying to sell his ugly little houseboat for like eight months. We could sail it off to Amaranthine or something, I bet no one would look for us there.”

Maibrit hesitates.

But after a few minutes, she seems to get into the idea.

“Gimme a couple more weeks, and I’ll get the money to buy the boat,” she says. “Amaranthine’s got a lot of anti-smuggling laws. That’s a good place to go, my family doesn’t have much of a foothold there, and they probably won’t be expecting me to go places by  _boat.”_

Lela grins.

“I feel like the dragon who’s planning to steal the Cadash family princess,” she declares.

Maibrit gets that look in her dwarven eye. Sunlight streams in through the apartment windows, and Lela lets out an involuntary giggle-snort as her girlfriend sneaks her hand up her sweater.

“You’re the prettiest dragon I’ve ever seen,” Maibrit tells her, sliding her other hand up her knee. Lela hums, and leans in. Angling for a kiss, but her lips eye up on her forehead instead, just above the empty socket that’s taking a break from ruby headaches. Which Lela did a pretty good job of chasing away last night, if she does say so herself. She goes with it, though, feeling a rush of tenderness as she presses a second kiss to her girlfriend’s temple. This family hurt her. They’re the ones who put rocks in her head, who told her to give up her dreams in order to do bad things for money.

Lela doesn’t feel bad about stealing her away.

“I love you,” she whispers.

She whispers it again, six months later, when she’s bleeding out on the docks in Amaranthine. Six burning wounds in her chest, and blood bubbling up at the back of her throat. It’s nighttime. She can see Maibrit, in the flickering lights from the boathouse. Maibrit and the stars, and the moon, as sirens blare and hands try to press on her wounds. Try to stop the blood, but there’s so much. The water still crackles with the flares of her magic. She didn’t go down without a fight.

But it wasn’t enough.

 _I’m sorry,_  she wants to say.  _Don’t go back. Don’t go back there. Go to the moon._

There’s too much blood in her throat, though, too many spots in her vision. It hurts worse than she ever thought, and she’s afraid. Maibrit’s calling for her, begging her to hold on. And she  _can’t._  That’s the scariest thing. She wants to, she doesn’t want to die, but it’s all just falling away. Spilling out, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

At least she managed ‘I love you’, she thinks, before it gets too hard to think, too.

Not bad words to go out on, in the end. Especially not for someone who was once sure they’d never be able to love anyone at all.

_Thank you._


	14. Vena

Vena’s got a secret.

Every night he dances, when Ana’s on shift, he pretends he’s dancing for her.

It started out pretty standard for him, actually. Vena likes his job. He likes stripping, he likes shaking the best thing his mother gave him, and he likes knowing that it’s the last thing he’s supposed to do with his life. Or  _want_  to do with his life. But early on he figures out that his routines always go better if he picks someone out in the audience, and mentally dedicates the dance to them.

It feels more personable that way, somehow. Makes it more fun. So his first night working in the new club, he scans the crowd, and spots the bartender. Ana. And it wouldn’t be his usual choice, since she’s not a customer. But she’s cute, and he thinks there’s a surprising amount of pink her cheeks for someone who works in a strip club. So he goes for it.

Dancing for Ana.

It works out even better than he expects. Because he sees Ana around. He gets to know her. She’s nice, and she’s pretty, and she doesn’t let anyone mess with the dancers, and she likes his terrible jokes. It’s easier to dance when he thinks ‘oh,  _Ana’s_  watching!’ because it keeps his enthusiasm up. The best times are when he glances towards the bar and finds her blushing, or finishes a routine and gets a compliment.

And sometimes, Ana even hangs out while he’s practicing his routines.

Vena likes to think she’s sticking around because she wants to watch him, but of course, she’s just doing her job, too. Even so. It’s a nice though; just like dancing ‘for her’ is a nice thought.

After the first few times she’s around for his practice, Vena starts calling her over, when it seems like her hands are free.

“What do you think?” he asks. “Should I end the routine with the good old fashioned ‘make-love-to-the-pole’ move, or should I move away and go for the splits?”

“I guess…” Ana starts, clearing her throat. Vena’s in his work-out clothes, which are mostly just a pair of very tiny shorts, with his hair done up and out of the way. He’s already worked up a little sweat, though not enough to wind him. “I… uh…”

“I got it,” he says. “I’ll demonstrate. Then you watch and tell me which you think is better? If you’ve got time, anyway.”

When Ana nods, Vena manages a wink, and then restarts the music and goes into his routine again. It takes more stamina than most people think to work a pole. Which is weird, really, because Vena’s pretty sure that most highschools still have rope or pole climbing in their phys ed curriculum. But for some reason, do it sexually, and suddenly whole crowds of people decide it’s not impressive anymore. Or it’s only impressive if it’s not sexy anymore.

Vena’s damn sexy and impressive, though, and he’s proud of it.

He gets his leg up for his first finish, and wraps himself around the pole, before he arches his back like he’s just had the most intense orgasm of his life.

Ana says something, he thinks. But when he looks over she doesn’t repeat it; just watching, with her cheeks all pink again. Vena grins, and takes a breath, before he redoes the last few steps of his routine and then gives her the alternate finish; whirling away from the pole and dropping into a set of splits on the stage. Careful, of course, not to crush anything sensitive. His muscles strain, aching just a little bit, now. He probably shouldn’t try it again tonight. But he’s good, even if his shorts go a little askew.

Ana keeps staring. He can’t tell if she’s thinking really hard or if she just noticed something broken on the stage.

“Well?” he manages, as he pulls himself into a sitting position instead.

Ana raises her finger, and then after a minute, clears her throat.

“The pole,” she says. “You’re more – you could – the, doing splits could hurt. If you landed. Wrong.”

Vena opens his mouth.

“Safety first!” Ana blurts, and then dashes back to the bar.

He blinks, and watches her go; more bemused than anything.

Well.

Maybe her interest in him isn’t strictly professional after all?


	15. Chapter 15

Ana rushes back to the bar, safe behind the granite counters with the alcohol and Cherry.

She thinks she sees them giggle, as they clean glasses, and she gives them a  _look_ , which doesn’t do what she intends it to because her face is still flaming and their smile widens.

When Selene steps into the place, Ana all but bolts into her arms and pulls her away.

“Hello to you, too,” Selene says. Ana pulls back to look at her friend before burying her face back into Selene’s chest. “Ana if anyone walks in, they’re going to get the wrong idea.”

“Is that so bad?” Ana asks, her voice muffled against the fabric of Selene’s sweater, and she feels her laugh against her cheek. Selene’s hand settles on Ana’s head, running her fingers through her hair.

Ana pulls back enough to look at her friend.

“Vena’s really pretty,” Ana says, and Selene giggles.

“You’re really pretty, too,” she informs her.

“But it’s a different  _kind_ of pretty,” Ana says. “Like, he looks really good in underwear.”

“I’m sure he’d think the same for you if he ever saw you in underwear,” Selene says, as flashes her this playfully wicked grin, and Ana pouts a little.

~

The music booms as Vena performs is latest routine, and Ana watches from behind the bar. Still mindful of the patrons around her as she whips up cocktails and takes orders, but she still finds herself being drawn to Vena as he whirls and wraps himself around the pole.

It was a good performance, and she feels her face heat up when he does his big finish.

Damn.

Their eyes meet for a second, and Vena manages a wink before Ana pulls her gaze away, suddenly very interested in the little flecks in the granite countertops. She lifts her head in time to see Vena making his way into the back, a sway in his hips as he disappears behind silken curtains. She takes the opportunity to scan the crowd, then, and notices a large vashoth man lingering suspiciously close to one of the doors that lead into the dressing rooms.

He seems to be swaying to the music, glancing around the hall. His gaze doesn’t land on the stage, however, as Selene starts up her dance.

“Cherry, cover me,” Ana says. They give her an affirmative hum as she makes her way over to the vashoth man, sticking closer to the walls as he goes further and further into  _definitely-shady-and-up-to-something_  territory.

When he glances at the stage for a moment, she takes the opportunity to slip behind him, positioning herself under an alcove, and in-between him and the backstage door. It is lucky she is so small. He seems all too shady for her to stay comfortably behind the bar.

“Excuse me,” she says in a lilted tone. She sees the man flinch and turn her way, only to be met with a smiling freckled elf. “If you would be so kind, good sir, this is a staff-only area. If you would come with me, I’m sure we can get you a more comfortable spot from where you can enjoy  _Lace’s_ newest routine.”

The man clears his throat and Ana watches his fingers twitch.

“My apologies, I did not realize,” he says, “It’s just that I seem to have dropped my wallet and I would really like to find it.”

“This wallet?” Ana asks.

The man’s face pales and his hand immediately flies to his pocket to find it empty. She watches as a bit of anger sneaks into his features, but the realization that he was caught red-handed in a lie overtakes him. He flashes her an uneasy smile.

“Yes, this is it. Thank you,” he says, as Ana hands it back to him. Her pickpocketing skills still do her service in the end.

She waits, firmly in place with her hands behind her back as he shifts uncomfortably. He looks her over, assessing her, she thinks, and seems to decide that she is not a threat, as he attempts to barrel past her. Ana is expecting it though, and she steps easily out of harms way before extending a leg in his path to trip him.

When he hits the ground, Ana picks up a heeled foot and places it firmly on his neck, threatening to cut off his air.

“Rushing somewhere?” she asks, her voice lilted and there is a smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The man stammers, and tries to get up, but she just adds a little more pressure, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“I demand to speak to a manager,” he chokes.

“Oh, you do  _not_  want to do that,” Ana chides. “Tell me, what makes you think you’re in any position to make demands in the first place? What you’re attempting to do is classifiable as sexual assault, you know.”

He lets out a kind of pathetic whimper.

“They are  _people_ ,” she sighs. She waits a beat. “Tell you what, we can do this the easy way. I let you up, and you can show yourself the exit. Spare you any further humiliation, yeah? You did just get taken down by a small elf with her hands behind her back, after all.”

He scoffs.

“I am a paying customer,” he says, and sucks in a breath when Ana presses at his neck more firmly.

“And Victory was just about to take dinner, too,” Ana tsk’s, before paging him to  _take out the trash_. She reaches into her pocket and drops a bundle of keys in front of his face. “You dropped something.”

~

Victory shows up before long, and takes over the situation from there. Ana uses the opportunity to catch her breath. Running a hand down her face before glancing at the door.

She pauses when she notices that it is slightly ajar, and Vena’s head is sticking out.

“Did… you see that?” she asks.

“I did,” he admits.

_Wonderful,_  she thinks.

“I’m sorry,” she says, trying for a smile. “It’s just… you guys don’t deserve to be harassed by  _creeps_  who think they’re entitled to your bodies just because you show them off.” What they do is honestly commendable, Ana thinks. She couldn’t do it, and not because she can’t work the pole. (It’s a good way to keep up her athleticism, after all.) She remembers trying it once, and could never get over the stage fright that fell over her. A shame, Nanae Mel even had a costume made that now sits in her closet. Protecting the dancers is really, the least she could do.

“It’s no problem, Banana,” he assures her. Theres a soft smile playing at his lips, and it makes Ana blush. She bits her lip.

“Uh… listen,” she begins. “Cherry is leaving early tonight. They have plans with Ela, so that means the bar is all mine after closing,” she explains. “So what I’m getting at is… if you’d like, I could get you a drink. On me, as an apology for witnessing that… display of mine, and for being such a tremendous dancer.”

Vena raises a brow as his smile goes from soft to smug.

“I’d love to.”


	16. After The Shot

It takes a week for the hospital to agree to release Selene, along with a long, detailed list of follow-up appointments and procedures to ensure everything that was damaged when the bullet went through her is healing properly, and there are no infections.

Falon'din is still under watch, when she is wheeled out to Melarue’s car.

 

They drive in silence, windows rolled all the way up back to Selene and Ana’s apartment.

Melarue has lectured her enough during her stay, she supposes. Enough talks about ‘screwing up’ and 'getting sloppy and overconfident’ from them. They’re worried too, she knows. She can see it in their eyes, even through Deceits attempts to bury it.

Selene accepts the lectures with as much grace as she can manage in her current state of pain-killers and bandaged stitches.

She put them, and the whole club in danger. She deserves it.

 

_We should have killed him,_  Des gripes for the hundredth time.

_I know,_  Selene agrees.  _Maybe next time._

 

Melarue finally breaks the silence as they step into the apartment. “You won’t be able to perform until your wound heals.”

 

“I’ll be able to seal it off in a day or two,” Selene dismisses as she limps onto the couch, already far too tired from the walk up the stairs of the building “At least enough to perform. Perks of our 'profession’, right?”

 

“No,” Melarue asserts. “No performing until you actually heal, at a normal rate. Mythal will likely double the number of spies she sends over, and they’ll have orders to keep a particular eye on  _you_. Consequences of trying to kill her eldest son, after dumping her second. If they notice you don’t have a scar, or you’re healing more quickly than you should be, they’ll know something is wrong. That means an investigation into you, and into the club.”

 

“And into you,” Selene sighs. “What if I keep the scar, but heal everything else?”

“No shortcuts, Selene,” they order “You do this like a normal elf, or you’re fired. I’ll help you where I can, but if you endanger myself or our family any further…”

“Alright, alright, I got it,” she snaps back, nerves still fried from spending a week in a hospital bed on high alert.

 

Melarue nods, and makes their way over to a flower arrangement on the counter, newly dropped off this morning. They glance over the card and let out a soft snort before bringing it over to Selene. “I assume this is for you.”

Selene raises a curious eyebrow as she takes the small card.

 

> _**Dear Selene,** _
> 
> _**Better luck next time!** _
> 
> _**Sincerely,** _
> 
> _**June E.** _
> 
> _P.S._
> 
> _I have the number of Sylaise’s Kevlar guy, if you want an extra advantage in your corner for Round 2._

 

Selene laughs hard enough that her wound aches, and she has to adjust her position to make sure her stitches don’t pop out.

 

Ana walks in the door then, plastic bags of gauze and bandages and disinfectants in hand.

“Feeling better?” She guesses, at the sight of Selene giggling on the couch.

“She’s just hysterical from the pain killers,” Melarue covers, striding over to Ana and placing a soft kiss to their daughters head.

 

Ana just nods with the quiet contemplative noise she makes whenever she can tell Melarue and Selene are keeping a secret. It’s happened quite often, and Ana knows it’s better not to push it by now. After ensuring they have everything necessary to definitely not have to go anywhere, and Ana promises to send bi-hourly updates via text with their codeword in each, Melarue finally takes their leave. Selene sighs with the relief of it. She loves them, but the weight of Deceit is just too thick for her to handle for long periods of time right now.

Stupid bullets.

She attempts to move into her own bedroom-It’s Tuesday, and that’s usually the night Vena comes by lately, but Ana insists she stay on the couch where she can keep an eye on her.

 

“I’m not going to bleed out any faster in my room than I am out here,” Selene gripes.

“Well, at least out here I can keep an eye on you,” Ana points out.

“You should be doing things with Vena, not looking after me.”

“Vena knows what’s going on. He’s giving you a few days to get reacclimated, and then he’s coming over to make you feel better once you won’t bust your stitches open at his jokes.”

“….Those were his exact words, weren’t they.”

“Pretty much. I cut out the puns,” Ana grins.

 

Selene sighs, and relaxes into the couch while Ana flips on Netflix, one of their favorite sci-fi movies playing quietly over the screen.

She’s not sure when she dozed off, exactly. She wakes up when Ana nudges her to drink some juice and take her medication, and the movie’s already reached its final battle. By the time Ana takes away the empty cup, Selene’s eyelids feel heavy again, and she’s back in the dreaming.

 

The next time she wakes, there’s a knock at the door.

Ana tenses, and slides open her pocket knife **,** handletight in her grip as she glances through the peep hole. She only relaxes slightly, and looks nervously back at Selene.

“It’s Dirthamen…” She mouths.

 

“Let him in,” Selene groans, sitting up and trying to look like she’s handling all of this better than her body actually is. Healing at a normal pace  _sucks._

 

Slowly, pocketknife still in hand, Ana opens the door. Selene can hear a hushed conversation between the two in the doorway, before Dirthamen walks through the door, a small bouquet of flowers in hand. He pauses when he sees the larger, more colorful arrangement already on the counter, fear flashing briefly over his face before his eyes land on Selene. Who has managed to get into a sitting position on the couch, but has yet to master standing on her own again.

Not that there’s much of a need, Dirthamen all but runs over by his standards when he sees her, before hesitating once he’s within arms reach again.

 

“How are you feeling?” He ventures.

“Like I got shot, but survived. You should see the other guy,” Selene jokes.

“I have. He is…not doing well.”

“I’d apologize, but he tried to kill me, too.”

“I would not ask you to apologize for what he has done,” Dirthamen asserts. There’s a beat, and his arm shoots out, flowers shoved towards Selene quickly enough that her head moves back a few inches in reflex. “I meant to visit you in the hospital, but I was…misdirected.”

“Melarue and Maibrit wouldn’t let you in, you mean.”

“Yes,” Dirthamen nods. “I am sorry. Flowers are supposed to help convey that. I…did not realize you had already received some.”

 

Selene nods slowly and takes the bouquet from Dirthamens hand. His arm must be getting tired, and she’s not sure if that’s what’s causing him to shake or if he might start crying, but she’d like to head the problem off either way. “Thank you. They’re lovely.”

“You are very welcome.”

 

There’s a few more beats of awkward silence, questions hanging in the air between them, and Selene is tired of pretending they aren’t there.

 

“Go ahead and ask,” she sighs “Just…can you get a vase and some water for these while you do? Standing is a bit of an issue.”

 

Dirthamen nods, and heads back towards their kitchen, searching through the top cabinets for a suitable container. “I am not sure where to begin…” he starts, before his eyes drift back to the flowers on the counter “Who were these from?”

“June.”

“…Ah. You were at his home the morning you were shot, yes? And…the evening before?”

“Sylaise showed you the picture, I assume. I was, and I did sleep over, but it was only because June was  _very_  drunk, and didn’t want to be alone.”

 

“You are not planning on entering into a relationship with him and my sister, then?” Dirthamen asks with a slight tint of hopefulness in his voice as he rinses out the glass vase he found. “Not that it is my business, either way. You are free to see or sleep with whomever you choose, of course. Not that you needed my permission, or acknowledgment of that fact-”

“I know,” Selene assuages “And no. I wouldn’t…June and I are just friends. He came over to talk, and we ended up at his place. That’s all.”

“What did you discuss?”

“You.”

“…Ah.”

 

The conversation seems to reach an impasse there, as Dirthamen adds water to the vase and carries it over to Selene on the couch. She carefully maneuvers the flowers into the container, and asks him to place it on the side table.

 

“Are you really a stripper?”

“I am,” Selene nods “Or I was. Not sure what direction my career is going to have to take, now that I’ll have a scar so prominently placed on my stomach.”

Dirthamen winces slightly “I am sorry for my brothers actions. He was out of line.”

“Not an uncommon occurrence for him.”

“No, it is not. I am still sorry.”

Selene just hums in acknowledgment.

 

Dirthamen fingers the edge of his coat, still radiating nerves. Hoping to ease him, at least somewhat, she offers him a seat beside her on the couch. He hesitates, but accepts, and calms considerably as he thanks her.

 

“Does it bother you I was a stripper?” Selene asks, deciding that it’s her turn to ask some questions, now.

“I suppose it is supposed to,” he offers “But so long as you were not engaging in intercourse with others, I do not think there was a breach of our relationship. Were you?”

“No. That sort of thing isn’t offered where I work. It’s a strict no touching policy.”

“Then I see no reason to be bothered by it. Your body is your own, after all.”

“…Thank you,” Selene whispers, feeling oddly touched by the sentiment of it.

 

A calm quiet falls over the two of them then, punctuated only by the quiet creak of the door to Anas bedroom as she tries not to draw attention to her eavesdropping.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Dirthamen finally asks, in a soft rush.

 

Selene hesitates. Considers lying, considers making a final blow to the end of their relationship. But she has  _missed_  him. She’s missed having him around, she’s missed being able to talk to him at the end of his day, missed  _him_. He has been respectful of her boundaries, after all. He’s made no move to claim her, or punish her, and has respected her decisions at every turn.

 

“No,” She finally answers. “Are you?”

“No,” he responds. His eyes dart over to her nervously, before sliding down to her abdomen. Dirthamens face morphs into a frown then, and he stands from the couch. “You seem to have bled through your gauze,” he informs her.

 

Selene blinks and looks down. Lets out a heavy sigh at the dark red stain on her tank top, and goes to slide it off before wincing in pain at the movement. Dirthamen reaches out to help her, before stopping himself.

She should probably cut him a bit of a break, she supposes.

 

“Can you help me?” She asks.

 

He nods, and carefully helps pry the shirt off of her, and takes it into her bathroom to soak in cold water before the stain can set. “Do you have anything to clean the wound with?” He asks, re-entering the living room.

Selene nods, poking and hissing in pain at the wound. “Ana brought some things home. They’re in the plastic bag on the counter.”

 

He doesn’t waste much time, as he takes out the disinfectant, sterile wipes, and a gauze pad. He kneels down on the ground before her, and gently wipes at the wound, apologizing each time she flinches. His fingers move swiftly, and with great care, and to his credit he only stares at the rows of stitches for a few seconds before he gets back to work. Once he’s finished, Selene is feeling far too aware of her stitches, and asks him to get her a few of her prescribed pain pills.

 

“I am so sorry,” he whispers again as he hands them to her, alongside a glass of water.

“It’s not your fault,” She assures him, handing back an empty glass once she has finished swallowing.

 

“That is not true. My brother is the one who shot you.”

“I tried to kill him, too.” Selene shrugs. “He deserved it.”

“But you did not,” he insists.

Selene sighs. “Dirthamen…I’m not as good as you seem to think I am. I’ve done terrible things, too.”

“I know.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together “No, you don’t.”

 

He hesitates, before casting a subtle silencing ward over the two of them. “You are an abomination, yes? And you killed that magister, and set the fire?”

 

Selenes eyes go wide, and a cold panic settles in her stomach. “I…how did you… _where_  did you…”

“My brother was telling me about the attack. He claimed you turned into a monster, and tried to 'burn his face off’. Given the questions I already had about your past, and my knowledge that you are a mage, this seemed to make the most sense.”

 

Shit.

_Shit_.

_**Shit**_.

 

“Who else has your brother told?”

“Our family, mostly” Dirthamen informs her “But he has a history of over exaggeration. It is unlikely to lead to anything. I have been dismissing any further questions. My sisters have already assumed he was lying. It is more suitable to his personality and history that he attempted to coerce you at work, and when you turned him down, things became violent.”

 

“And no one has ever thought to put a stop to his behaviors  _before_ now?” Selene frowns.

 

Dirthamen at least has the shame to look guilty before pressing on “I will not tell anyone what I have figured out,” he assures her “I promise you.”

“I…” Selene hesitates. What should she do now? Melarue will definitely fire her. She’ll have to move. She’ll lose her protections, she’ll lose Ana, she’ll lose Dirthamen.

She’s going to lose  _everything._

 

Selene feels at once, very, very tired. Likely a combination of the stress of the conversation, and the painkillers, the logical part of her brain tries to explain. But she needs to sort this out. She can’t just…she can’t just let him  _leave._

 

“Stay here,” she manages to mumble out, taking his hand in hers, even as her eyelids grow heavy. “Stay here for now, please.”

Dirthamen hesitates once more before nodding. “I will.”

 

Selene lets out a sigh of relief, and her eyes slide closed as her head finally falls against Dirthamens shoulder.

She…will likely have to figure this out when she wakes.

But for now…for now, all she can do is rest.  
And hope.


End file.
